Carpe diem
by Ardina
Summary: Sarka is tricked and sold into slavery. Far away to the north she knows nothing of the language, clothes or mannerisms, even less does she know about the infamous Count and Anna...It's time to seize the day
1. Dracula & Anna

**NEW STORY. NEW PLOT: I got hit by it. Literally, I was playing "Last Choas" and got up to go get a drink and I smacked my head on a shelf..(no, I wasn't paying attention, but I'm sure it moved). So there I was concussed and I found a plot line. My work is never recycled off anyone elses so trust it shall be decent. Not as long winded as "Embrace" (tht was like a child to me...damn...need to finish it). Pretty excited to create a new character, she shall not be a Mary-Sue and she def not going to be a desperate authoress's attempt to be "original" either...Let's just some up to say its my new project and reviews are needed to max my god complex: Van Helsing plot shall be twisted. I am pro-drac. There shall be an O.C (but if I get enough Anna/Gab fans I may be generous and incorporate a side romance just for you saps). I swear no tragedy(pfft..yeh, tht will last long. No really, I promise this time, besides...didn't Liarna come back to life guys? guys?).  
**

**Warning: I'm not like other writers. THEY are all generous and loving; they want useful tips. I don't.**

**1. The Demon & Anna**

"Sparkling Angel, you are my saviour in my time of need", she wrapped the polished wooden beads of the worn rosary around her white knuckles as she clenched her first. Every night was the same process and every night the young woman needed to renew her courage. "Left alone", she whispered her lonely prayers into the dead of the freezing night. It was the time of year that saw the transition from the burning atumn to the darkening winter. The cold air misted her light breath as she stood before the humble mausoleum to her prestigious family. One day she would be placed within its cold confines and she too would never see the light of day; ever again. The only question was how long would it take the demon to complete his task?

To the south of where she silently stood, reflecting on her prayers, was a figure of a man. On the outskirts of the graveyard was the surrounding forest. His black Hessina boots crushed the grass beneath his feet. The dim light filtered through the sparce clouds. It was a dark habitat for even darker inhabitants. The thick trunks of the tall pines and the oppressing atmosphere of the suffocating foliage did little to obstruct his determined gaze. _He _never ventured out. _He _always sent someone to accomplish his errands for him. Usually the task fell to his faithful beauties; loyal and blindly obedient were the appropriate descriptive. Yet, he stood swathed in black gazing at the gypsy princess in the middle of the frosty night. Twice she had evaded his gluttonous clutches. He admired the grace and poise; despite himself, the sheer arrogance of her wondering in the night was close to breath taking. Women of permanence were required to be obedient; others to pass the time, well, were more like him: arrogating to themselves whatever they wanted.

As silent as a demon of the frightening night he made his way to the edge of the graveyard. With the decrease in distance he could hear her sweet voice all the more clearer, "Together in these memories I see your smile. All the memories I hold dear. I love you to the end of time father". He saw her face in the night light and the glassy look that briefly allowed some of the inner turmoil a vent.

"Silent whispers are nothing but silent tears", came a voice from behind her. The woman turned immediately expecting someone to be right behind her, but he wasn't. Her glovede hand went straight for her sword that hung, ever present, at her side. She found the source of the disturbance, but did not draw her sword. No; the demon stood on the edge of the holy ground. The frail iron railing ran around the outskirts of the small plot of land. It seemed inadequate in her mind to keep him from killing her at that moment, but it appeared that he made no effort to cross the weak boundary. She said nothing at first and he watched her closely as a cold wind blew strands of her thick hair across her face. The action caused her to tuck the luscious strand behind her ear. He noted her pleasing appearance as the cold of Transylvania brought a rosy colour to her flawless perfection. His sharp azure eyes noted her own dark shade of chocolate for eye colour. His mind turned and revolved as he thought of what a pleasant distraction she would make. "Such a pity you have to die", he said more to himself than her. It was a trait that many would come to notice; the quality of being selfish.

"I wish I could say the same for you Count", she replied steadily over the wind showing none of the fear that the others of the land often showed, but then again it was not her duty to be afraid.

His voice continued to reverberate in her ears as he continued. The sound was a beautiful personification of the sheer richness and beauty of the rugged landscape surrounding them both. His voice only served to heighten the aura of his presence, "Oh princess, my heart bleeds at the thought of loosing your love-"

"Please don't even consider such a thing. The vow has been made and I truly don't care if I have to drag you to Hell myself; I will watch as you rot in Hell Dracula".

"Fine words coming from a defenceless woman alone in the middle of the desserted and cold night. What have you been thinking to venture out like this Anna? Beautiful and strong you are, but this is plain foolish. You know a demon can never contain himself-"

"That is why the hallowed ground serves it's purpose tonight. Cross it if you are soo powerful demon", she said. His eyes immediately darted to her face, there he saw the mocking light. They both knew he could not set one damned foot over the line. Her God would prove sufficient tonight in protecting her from the Devil's son. The silence she received from the figure in black simply served to amuse her easy nature. "I fear you? I will and never have feared you Dracula! Since my childhood you have dogged my heels and every step of the way I have out witted you". The young woman walked away from the tomb of her parents and approached the frail iron railing. Her booted steps were confident and deliberately so. Anna stopped before she came within an arms length of the demon, there was no need to be as arrogant as _he_ was, "All my life".

"Your family were never able to be rid of me-"

"I know you murdered my family. Are we not both visiting their grave on the exact same night?" Her face was calm and as expressionless as his own.

"You are such a fighter Anna", he said softly. "Imagine if you fought for _me_". Perhaps there was even a hint of lusting seduction to the eternal depths of his tones. He stood deathly still as he continued, "Your beauty is classical. Perfectly poised faced with any situation-"

"I am not a piece of grand architecture you can-"

"And the fire, that fire and utter passion. Could I ever meet a more passionate woman than you my dearest Anna?"

"Stop your banter and leave while you still can-"

"I can't say I appreciate your warped sense of reality though", he said and looked away for a moment. Classical beauty was something had used to describe her. It took most of her will power not to notice his own clean lines and flawless perfection. He eyes attempted to drown her as he continued, "Join with me and end this petty conflict my dear".

There was a silence that seemed never to end. The glacial wind wind continued to swirl around them both. To one side of the frail boundary stood a demon that had plagued the land for centuries. His flawed beauty had seduced them all; seduced them and then destroyed them. Those eternal eyes pinned his next target as the length of his dark cloak majestically billowed behind him. Opposing him stood the young woman who was destined to oppose him at every turn. Her brown eyes remained defiant and unblinking when his request was left to the wind. Her gloriously rich hair hung in an abundant mass over and below her shoulders. She met his steeley gaze without fear and said, "When my hands are soaked in your demonic blood. When you never can rise again, then, and only then will this _petty _conflict of ours have ended".

He replied, "Then allow the games to begin my dear Anna". The demon turned his back on her and disappeared as easily as mist before the morning sun. Being left alone in peace to the solitude of the night did nothing to ease the weight from her shoulders.


	2. The Magpie

**2. The Magpie**

"Produits et bon marché", cried a seller in the middle of the bustling square. There were traders and healers littered all around the center of the market square; all of them attempting to make a profitable living at the cost of any foolish and unsuspecting foreigner. The north african sun burned down on the entire city and there was no where to hide, for the poor that is. Over time the walls of the buildings had been bleached a dazzling white. The brilliance had long since faded in the mind of the woman that blended with the inhabitants without effort. Tangier was another place to make a living, or to be more precise, another place to make a _steal._ There were masses of people milling at every stall from the fruit to the arm trader. Even the herboligist was dealing well this morning. She was dressed like a young boy although her experience was anything but naive. Her pale green eyes automatically scanned the scene for an easy target. Her hair was pulled back and fell, unfashionably for the time, just below her shoulders. The woman's face was constantly exposed to the rays of the sun and light sprinkling of freckles gave her a devillishly cheeky look in the right light. The merchent continued to call out at the top of his lungs, it appeared to be a competition of decibils rather than making the most money between them all. She reached the side of the stall and lowered her dark lashes as her fingers ran over the wood of the stall. She went unoticed by the loud trader as he advertised his apples and pears. There was dirt that covered her hands. A servent distracted the merchent unintentionally and the woman took her chance at that moment. One deft movement of her hand and she walked away with a juicy red apple.

A few bites of the apple later and she was walking down another street in the city of Tangier. She wasn't the only one. Everywhere there was always another looking to take from you. "The best sauce has always been hunger", the woman muttered as she fed the core to a horse that stood waiting for his owner. It was a red and knickered as she walked away. "Are you ever going to wash?" The woman didn't turn around, but continued at her leisurely pace. The neighbourhood gradually became worse. "Well?" The masculine voice persissted and the source of it caught up with her...eventually. Octavian was naive and rather too wealthly off of late. The woman spared him a breif glance and said, "Tell me Octavian, is that mansion of yours worth the endurance of her company?"

"You're still mad at me".

"Mad would mean I actually acknowledge what you did-"

"Magpie, that is unfair and you know it. Your soul is not _that _cold", replied Octavian. She made no reply to the affectionate nickname so he continued, "Life is not some grand affair that will, that will..." He failed to express the depressing view of life. His words died amongst the sounds of the street. Octavian ran a hand over his face and simply stopped following her. She turned and finally looked at him properly. The woman saw he was tired and mesmorized by the sight of the single gold band that encircled his finger. She walked back to where he stood motionless and took hold of his hand with her fingertips resting on the gold band. "I won't try and deny that a life filled with wealth would benefit me. I don't agree with your marriage, but I can see the reasons why Octavian". With her words spoken she let go of his hand and he met her eyes. They were a disconcerting colour, so very pale against her honeyed flesh and black hair. "Personally, there isn't enough money or prestige in the entire world that would have made me marry that fat irritating woman".

"You've never met her-"

"Doesn't mean I can't judge her", she interrupted. "Then again, her lucrative family collection of stones from the East is a vaguely redeeming". Her voice wasn't sweet and was an oddly attractive mixture of all the places she had been in her years. She noticed his vaguely distressed look and commented, "What do you take me for? I needed to check that my thieving apprentice was going to be well cared for-"

"I never said-.I didn't mean it", he said colouring guiltily.

"No one ever means anything", the woman said without an expression.

To lighten the atmosphere, the man said, "I'm the same age as you, how are you the master and I am the apprentice?"

"I'm a jaded woman".

"Fair enough", was all he said in response to the snappy remark. "So when are you getting a wash?"

"I don't smell particularly offensive-"

"Suppose we must be grateful for small miracles", he muttered in an amused fashion. "Maybe a dress, a suitor and who knows where it could all end". His voice was full of optimism.

"Octavian look at me. _Really_ look at me", she told him. "What do you honestly see?"

"I see a woman that could have anything if she actually had the ambition-"

The magpie rolled her eyes and said in return, "Forever with your head in the damn clouds. Consider me offended. I have plenty of ambition". There was a significant pause that made the man wonder. "Just not to decorate a room at the moment". Octavian gripped her arm and steered her from the middle of the street to a side alley. It had a wonderful fragrance; rotting fish. "What are you doing now? Not even your pretty oils from Alexandria could smother_ that_ smell".

"You are like a sister to me-"

"Excuse me, but _who_ found _who_ bloodied and battered in a side alley vey much like this one?"

"You did-"

"Yes, I did. Who helped you and gave you a form of living?"

"Stealing is hardly a respectable _living"_

"But, but you lived by the crafty slight of my hand, day in and day out". She shrugged off his hold and said, "I suppose your idea of respectable is deceiving a wealthy widow and marrying her to cushion your own ass". It was a cheap shot and it showed in his eyes.

"I only want to help you like you helped me", he said softly. "Tangier is prosperous in trade and is a beautiful city. It is peaceful and that's rare. I only want for you to be provided for". He released a long sigh before her added, "It's deeply ironic that you plot and conive daily to cheat an innocent working man out of his wages and yet, yet you damn the idea of marriage for money. You deplore my morality and look at your own".

She said nothing and merely glared at him.

"We've known eachother for a short amount of time and-"

"And now you see the problem. Friends are so easy to make for me, it's the truth and maintanance which follows that is simply abismal", she interrupted him.

"I was going to say I admire your need to live every moment since you don't know what your next shall hold".

"I'm not feeling pityful at this moment so come back when I need a shoulder to cry on", she snapped harshly.

"You can't live as a petty thief the whole of your life!" The sound of Octavian's voice echoed in the small alley and there were subsequent glances in their direction.

"Whoever said I was _petty_, it is as you said. You havn't known me for an extended amount of time; remember that".

"Is that why you are heading where I think you are?"

"I said I was more than petty, that doesn't mean I'm pyschic and know what's going through your little mind at this precise moment", she said sarcastically.

"The Eagle's Nest", he said simply looking at her. "What on earth would you need to visit that place for?"

The magpie put on a look of barely concealed amusement as she commented, "Well, at least you paid attention some of the time". She attemtped to walk back out onto the main street to continue her journey, but his hand shot out to stop her.

"Tell me", he said.

She glanced down to his hand wrapped around her upper arm in distaste. He soon understood the unspoken message and released her with downcast eyes. She looked up the wealthy man and debated allowing him a glimpse into her world. He seemed to genuinely care and that served as a reminded why he made a horrific thief; a conscience was not useful in this career. Her secret had always been kept from him in the time he had been with her.

"You're, you're not going to be a, a, a _whore_ are you?"

"Should I slap you now or later, some of the ideas in that gluttonous head of yours, you disgrace me". She placed one hand on his shoulder and beckoned him closer with her other hand. He was prepared to hear of her news, but instead her palm connected with his face and left a stinging mark. "That hurt", he complained rather pathetically.

"Good, now listen without interuption please", she said without remorse. "The Eagle's nest is a place where things can be, shall we say, sold to _enthusiasts_. Art mainly, beautiful things that I happen to have an eye for and this all culminates in a wonderfully sucessful relationship you see".

He looked at her rather sceptically, "I thought you only stole to feed yourself and make a _living, _I didn't know you where Robin Hood on the weekends".

"Hmmm. It is something to shout from the roof tops isn't it?"

"Well-"

"Oh shut up and head back to that fat wife of yours", she said. He didn't move and merely looked worried. "It is wonderful that I can have a _friend_ in this world in such a short space of time, but you have your life now and it is not part of my world-"

"And what is your world Magpie?"

"To live up to the nick-name that you have just called me by", she said and he didn't say anything so she murmmered, "Look around you and you shall see my world. The noise of the cart down the cobbled street. The children that play at riling the butcher. The sun beating down upon us all. The smells". She paused and watched his expression to see if any of it had made an impression. "I have not lived in Tangier since I was born and I doubt I shall here for much longer", she finished softly.

"Your telling me to forget you arn't you?"

"Oh I want to be in memories; happy memories".

"I suppose I-"

"Go", she commanded softly. He would have given her a brotherly hug, but it was _her_.

Octavian was half way and about to step out onto the street when he turned and said, "What is your real name?"

"I've always been _Magpie_", she replied without hesitation.

"Your real name Magpie", he asked her again with little hope of success.

"My real name would open another door Octavian-"

"No. It won't", he said simply and was walking away when he heard it. On hearing the real name of the woman who had save his life, he never turned back. He did nothing of the sort. He continued walking along the bustling streets and returned to his safe home. It was as he sat against a soft cushion with the guests of his wife surrounding him, the name resounded in his head. _How ironic_, he thought to himself and added, _but how very appropriate._ He wished her all the luck in the world as he secretly toasted to his past friend; Sarka.

**Sarka (say it how it looks people): "Magpie". Czech/Bohemian legend of a young maiden who aids the Amazon-like Vlasta in her slughter of men in the "Maiden's War". The meaning of the name is uncertain, but most agree on "Magpie". Chosen since she's a thief (hence irony 'cos Magpies steal shiny things) and it just sounds "different"...lol**

**Remember. Go update everything! Please???**


	3. Lone Mortal in the Dark

_"The secret of life...why am I here to try again?"_

- Jilian(I'd give my heart) Within Temptation

**3. Lone Mortal in the Dark**

The cool night breeze filtered in through the open window. It had been left open due to the smothering heat of the summer night and the subsequent night. The sweet smell of jasmine lingered in the bedroom as the herbaceous plant grew around the wooden panes of the old window of the older mansion. The vine twisted and wrapped the knarled bark at precarious angles around the wooden slats. During the day the view was wide and looked out over the summer fields and nearby forests. When the weather had been good the eye could see as far as Wallachia. Now, however, the view was dark and murky, but not necessarily a bad omen of the horrors lurking further a field.

The night wreathed the entire landscape in a hushed and silent embrace with the light of the moon filtering gently between the clouds. Back inside the room there were old furnishings that spoke of wealth and splendor and even more importantly, the social standing of the sleeping occupant. On the four posted bed lay an exhausted woman first and last. Her hair lay in riotous curls across the white brilliance of the cotton sheet beneath her and her pale flesh was covered adequately by a modest cotton night dress. The rich, colourful and thick quilt was left to lie alone on the floor in the abnormally warm night. Tired and tortured, by dementing nightmares for the past months, she had finally found peace in her sleep this very night. It was soon to be disturbed by the source of her dark nightmares.

There was no one to see or warn the inhabitant of the strange presence that suddenly became known lurking in the shadows. The warm night had been clear, but now a fine mist hovered and gathered beneath the window of the sleeping princess. The alluding mass rose and left faint drops of moisture upon the emerald leaves of the jasmine as it passed silently above. On entering the room, the mass swirled upwards and revealed the figure of a man. He was tall with the fair skin of a Wallachian Prince, but the dark tainting of a black midnight on all Hallowed's Eve. In the dim light the fine work of his clothing was shadowed, but apparent; it was clear he was no commoner by any stretch of the imagination. His silent, and most probably unwelcome, entrance hadn't even caused the usually enlivened princess to stir as she remained in a peaceful slumber. Contrary to what the reader might at first think, the man made no attempt to even wake the woman as she lay across the bed before him, instead, he took an interest in what surrounded him. His perfect sight took cache of all that surrounded him, even if the light was exceptionally poor, and it was peculiar how much attention he paid to the mortal's room. With his incredibly light foot-fall he made his way to a low table. On this wooden chest of drawers rested the mortal's silver hair brush and combs; all very feminine of course. His gloved hands lightly passed over the pieces as if to understand the woman who wielded them a little better.

The night air continued to circulate and the gentle breeze caused the heavy fabric of his cloak to sway slightly. In the dim light his eyes traveled to the large mirror on the chest of draws and contemplated the reflection. The light colours of the room reflected true as did the image of the sleeping woman; there was nothing to suggest that another living soul was in the same room. Indeed, his dark shadow did not appear at all. The blue of his eyes appeared to hold a certain light at the realization and he murmured something inaudible to himself at that same moment. He didn't linger for long as he turned to where the woman lay and sat on the edge of the bed. His long fingers lanced themselves in his lap as he closed his eyes and entered her sleep...

_"I've been dreaming for soo long,_

_To find the meaning,_

_To understand, _

_The secret of life...why am I here to try again?"_

_The light sound filtered through the grove of olive trees. The voice tuneful and sweet like honey to the ears of the listener. At first his vision was clouded and he saw nothing. The singing continued to fill his ears._

_"I've been living for soo long,_

_Many seasons passed me by,_

_I've seen kingdoms through ages,_

_Rise and fall, I've seen it all,_

_Seen the wonder,_

_Seen the horror happening right in front of my eyes", sang the voice in the temperate afternoon. The faint scent of wood-smoke lingered heavily in the Mediterranean air with the gentle brushing of green olive branches as the breeze weaved in and out of the rows. It appeared to be the middle of summer in a field full of ripening olive trees; there produce making them heavy and lush. Apart from the voice there seemed to be no other sign of human life and in the state of his excellent hearing he believed to register the sound of the ocean lapping the shores in the far distance. Beneath his Hessian boots was dirt. Good old-fashioned and rich dirt that gave life to the lush grove he now stood in. Above his dark head was a sky that was clearing not of the earthly realm. There was no glaring sun or comforting moon to give out a basking glow, no, there was only permanent light to behold. It stretched as a pale skyline from east to west in all its perpetual glory. The Vampyre found it amusing that in the pricess's dreams; there was no night. "All her bravado is for nothing", he said to himself. "She truely does fear me", he continued thankful for his ability to delve into the unsuspecting mind. With these thoughts running through his devious mind he walked to the source of the lullaby. The tune changed to a rueful and melancholy note the closer he came._

_"Lost in the darkness,_

_Hoping for a sign,_

_Instead there's only silence_

_Can't you hear my screams?"_

_The Vampyre extended an arm to push aside a green branch, blossoming with olives, to watch the siren before him. It was a sight he had never seen before, but the beauty he had long suspected and had certainly held a fascination for him. The princess sat amongst the drooping boughs of the peaceful olive branches in a light muslin gown. Her magnificent hair spilled out around her shoulders in a splendid mass of curls. Her skin was perfect porcelain and made the man inside ache to run his cold fingers over her flawless cheek down to her blood red lips of satin. In that moment he stood and listened further._

_"Never stop hoping,_

_Need to know where you are,_

_One thing's for sure,_

_You're always in my heart,_

_I'll fnd you somewhere,_

_I'll keep on trying till my dying day,_

_I just need to know,_

_Whatever has happened,_

_The truth will free my soul", she finished and finally he noticed something else. Her dark eyes, those pools of obsidian, rested mornfully on something before her. The princess knelt and sang for the man buried beneath her in this world. She gazed endlessly at a remarkable grey headstone that had an angel bowed over it. It was the figure of a divine woman of heavenly purpose that leant on the stone; her face averted in obvious sorrow. Despite what it represented; it was beautifully moving in all its grey harrowing sorrow._

_"Do you lack such imagination that he cannot even exist in your dreams?" The Vampyre sneered maliciously as she was startled out of her mourning and looked up at the dark figure on the edge of her blurry vision. He saw the huge dark eyes look at him and he felt an odd pang within his chest; guilt perhaps? Whatever the feeling or emotion, dare it be suggested; it was quickly and most swiftly put to the back of his mind. "An endless day to keep me at bay?" The Vampyre motioned at the perpetual sky filled with an odd resemblance of daylight._

_"What do you want?"_

_"Since you asked: The World-"_

_"Get out!"_

_"Where of my dear?" The Vampyre made a show of rotating with his hands outspread, "Tell me where we are?"_

_"A place I thought I was free of the likes of you", she spat in his direction. Anna had chosen to stand and it didn't pass the Vampyre by that she took a protective step in front of the grave. Her feet were bare, but free of the marring dirt beneath her feet. "Stay where you are Dracula", she commanded in a strong voice when he started to move._

_"Go. Stay. Make up your mind, Anna", the emphasis of her name grated on her nerves and the Vampyre knew it very well indeed as he watched her though hooded lids. The sky, above them both, swirled and apparently mirrored her exacting emotions. The Vampyre chose to look up at the sky, away from her, and commented lightly, "The darker colour may eventually consume you Anna. Don't let go of your mortality by any means, but remember that he is dead and nothing will bring him back-"_

_A huge streak of light zig-zagged across the sky and broke into the Vampyre's words. "Calm yourself Anna. Killing me here won't kill me in the real world, but I can assure you that I can kill you with your own dreams my dearest"._

_"Leave me be-"_

_"Van Helsing is dead Anna. What are you going to do?"_

_She mimicked him perfectly as she replied equally, "Your Brides are dead Dracula. What are you going to do?"_

_The Vampyre did not give a violent reaction, but laughed heartily which did little to balance her equilibrium. He bowed deeply and extravagantly and replied to her annoyance, "Oh Anna, how could I ever thank you for my new start? That darling Gabriel of yours, how he tried and how he fell. Doesn't he prove that the harder you try, the harder you fall-"_

_"Enough!" She screamed with her hands to her ears in a vain attempt to block out his cruel and vindictive words. In all truth the princess of nothing did not want to know what was next. Anna had no idea. Her Gabriel was gone and she had been left with a monster... _

The land of her dreams faded to nothing almost immediately and the princess woke to find herself in her own room with her quilt upon the floor. A thin sheen of sweat covered her, still tired, body and the cotton night dress had wound its way around her legs as she slept fitfully. Sitting up in the bed she looked around her room, she saw nothing changed and nothing she sensed was unusual in any way. Her brush that once belonged to her mother sat in the same spot and a warm breezed filtered the room. "My dreams", she said to herself in a far away voice as Anna threw herself back on the bed and slung an arm over her eyes. "My dreams", she repeated and attempted to drift back off again. Unbeknown to her, a pair of very blue eyes watched and waited with the patience, ironically, of a catholic saint.

**Apologies to Haunting Whispers and Remember. I do promise to be back soon.**


	4. A Theif

"Stress is the confusion when the brain overrides the body's basic instinct to throttle the life out of an irritating jackass"

-_Random_

**4. A Thief**

There were many levels to the old city of Tangier. One contained the sights that the sight seers would come across. The sacro sanct churches, glorious mosques and worn battlements. This was the sight of the markets and the spices with the loud merchants selling their wares, but what of the other face to an old city? Where did all the alley ways go? The poor and dirty street urchins; where did they lay their weary heads to rest? How on earth did they scrape a living to survive on? Why was it that no noble would venture beyond his cloistered world beyond nightfall? These and many other questions could only be answered with experience of the other face of the aged city. The salty breeze continued to bath the tiring city with its eastern promises of far beyond. The burning african sun faded to a dusty orange and gradually sank beneath the far away waters. All of the traders abandoned their prime positions and went home to their adoring kin. Everyone left the dirt streets and went to their families, everyone, but those that had nothing.

Towards the north of the city, in the prosperous suburbs, rested an individual waiting for the cover of the night. For the past long and arduous hours the individual had mentally mapped the fall of the glowing sun. The faces and their comings and goings had been marked as well. To the side of a large enclosure was another row of less prestigious houses and it was here, between two walls, that she waited in the shadows. Her position was marked by experience as it gave an excellent vantage point to the large wooden doors that were the key to the enclosure and beyond.

Time passed. Time passed and the night wrapped the city deeper within her dark velvet folds. The woman's timing had included the partial moon that graced all below her. A pair of pale green eyes looked out over the scene before her. It was late and not a soul was found to be disturbing the night's peace; certainly not in this neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination anyway. Her lithe and silent movements mirrored the dextricity of a black cat as the woman kept to the favoring shadows and approached the gate. Rather than enter through here, as you might have thought, she sent a glance to the height of the stone and placed her fingertips in the first cracks of the moulding between the stone. She did not make a single sound or grimace as her fingers were forced between the grazing stone and she hauled herself up and over the wall. The woman dropped the stone courtyard silently with her slightly bleeding hands to the cold stone beneath her. Her eyes were wide and alert as she quickly took note of the surroundings. She had not made a foolish choice when she had chosen the house of the governor. The outer courtyard was paved with fine pantite stone and in the centre, before the flagged doors, was a small fountain with mosaic tiles lovingly administered. All around the compound were the faint shadows thrown by large and small fruit trees also carefully tended. To her right rested a stone basin in which sat a thorned palm; it amusingly crossed her mind how she had just missed it. Without wasting further time, the woman crouched low as she made her way to the flagged doors. Interesting how there was no one to guard the premises. _Then again, _she thought to herself,_ who would touch the Governor?_ The doors were unlocked.

Tonight was going to be easy pickings for the woman as she made her way through leaving the door a jar behind her entrance. It was dark, but she was sure that Persian rug lay beneath her filthy boots and she was sure she was dragging mud over it too. Not thinking to make the damage less, she proceeded to the inner sanctum of the enclosure; luckily for her the resting chambers were to the far right and on the second floor of the villa. Through another set of doors and she was close to the study; she was sure of it. On her way she passed many fine items that would have passed for a lot of money and would have been worthy pickings for any theif, but Sarka was not _any _thief. Her profession was a strange one and it was only certain items that caused a gleam to cross her pale eyes in her honeyed flesh. Tonight was for her own purposes and future, but before it had been the request from the rich that filled her quotas. You see, Sarka was not born to a family that _kept _her and there were only two options to women of such history; survive or be whored. From the Cape of Good Hope to the present country; I'm sure you can see that her sense of pride forbade any consideration of the later. Even in an era of fantasy and discovery there were the individuals that would pay different sums for the _recovery _of certain items. Books, jewels and relics are among the ordinary items she had _recovered_. Make it clear now that humans had never been acceptable on her list, not because that was below low, no, merely because they required far too much energy and labour. When it came to business it appeared she had scruples and yet, yet none at all. For example she had no qualms when she was hired by the man she had stolen from to steal something _back. _

Things were changing in the trading city. As usual she was also becoming too well-known. Some of her jilted clients had come looking for her of late. Three years was long enough to be in one state. Sarka wanted to move on, perhaps a home this time in a city or rural area. She had heard tales from the traders of the great Constantinople; a fusion of the West and the East with all it glory and opportunity. Yes, she was getting older and could not be a thief forever. But, a change would mean the need for money and besides, she wouldn't give it all up. _I have too much talent_, she cooed gently to herself as she stood before the item she had come for. Hung majestically on a wall facing her was a sight to behold. It would certainly fetch a pretty price in the underground market and who knew? She might well advertise this piece a little to attract the attention. Glaring back at the woman was sketch beautifully constructed by the great master himself. It wasn't very big, not a huge-scale operation, and was the depiction of a man on horseback, a nobleman of some sort for his clothes were foreign to her as was the style of saddle. Although there was no colour in the piece, and it was dark, the eyes of the piece bored into her as the proud figure glared haughtily down at her as if he were immortal. The horse was captured with zeal and spirit with the curl of the muscled neck and she could almost hear the distasteful snort of the great beast. There was no background to the piece and this only heightened the intensity and vision of the artist. If he was real, the figure must have been an impressive individual with many great deeds or _a very bad man_, she finished. As she proceeded to take the piece down it still stared at her; neither agreeing or disagreeing with her actions. Despite the sudden unsettling feeling nagging at her insides she continued in her task, unfortunately, she made a mistake. Due to the _nagging feeling _she hesitated and dropped the frame as she removed the sketch. Her entire progress had been in silence and then she made the damning error. Later, in the time she would have to ponder it all, the woman would contemplate her actions and debate with herself whether there was such a thing as fate and did it honestly agree with her?

_Crash._

The precious metal frame made a delightful noise on the stone flooring. The glorious sound made an echo that rang out merrily throughout the entire villa. The awful noise itself struck a cord within the woman's chest. She quickly worked on cutting her losses by rolling the sketch and tucking it safely into the side of her boot. She also set about filling her shirt pockets with as many petty items as she could find. A gold letter opener. A candlestick of solid silver. Anything that would minutely distract if she was found, there would still be an opportunity to escape with the item she had come for.

_Creak._

There was sound to heard overhead. It made her stomach turn. Oh, she had done this many times before, but never made an error and never taken the risk of a governor's home. Thoughts of repent concerning her greed raged through her calculating mind. You see you don't just lose your dignity if you are caught; you lose something much more valuable. Her eyes strayed to her hands as she stood listening for further sounds around her.

From the far side of the corridor there was the sound and sight of something, or more precisely, someone moving in the woman's direction. Without further delay she silently slipped behind one of the ghastly decorative tapestries that hung on one of the walls. The night air was stagnant behind the cloth and the dust clouded her vision, but she dared not move for fear of discovery. When several silent minutes had passed the woman surreptitiously pushed at the side of the heavy tapestry. In the dimmed light she made out the figure of a man. From the shape of his silhouette she saw that he looked in her direction for several minutes. The woman's breathing had slowed considerably in an attempt to eradicate all possible evidence of her presence and it felt like an age waiting for the man to make his next move. To her relief and surprise, he turned and went back the way he had come, for an odd reason fate had chosen that she would get away with it this night. Later she would find that her lucky star was in fact a cursed star.

She left the security of the heavy draping tapestry and made no effort to conceal the mess she had made as the shattered remains of the precious metal lay in ruins at her feet. The servants would be left to pick up the pieces in the early morning. Without further mishap she made for the flagged exit, the tall cultivated palms and then she sized up the wall in the dim light. With an ease of movement, and certain cheek, the woman used the, preferable, front door for her mode of exit. Silently and stealthily she disappeared out into the dark street without a backward glance.


	5. Slavery

"This is me forever, one of the lost ones. The one without an honest name as comfort"

-_Nemo Nightwish_

**5. Slavery**

The first rays of sunlight fell upon the port city in the early hours of the morning. A cool breeze radiated from the blue water of the quay. The golden light fell dappled between the wooden beams that hung over the alley way. Wrapped in a dark and filthy cloth was the huddled firgure of an individual. The face was covered apart from the eyes that remained closed in the hours of twilight. Streaks of dirt marked the feminine face and a stray lock of black hair lay strewn across her closed eye. The silence of the night had faded and was replaced by the sound of people. People working, children playing and the general sound of busy neighborhood. There was little reason to take note of the figure in the corner, but someone did. A young boy in fact, he approached the still figure and gently removed the obscuring cloth from her face. He was aged between ten and eleven with brown hair and eyes of dark chocolate. The cloth lowered, his eyes traveled to an object that lay just beneath her shirt. The silver glinted at him and dared him to make a grab for the object. She still had not moved in the slightest so the young boy attempted to try his famed luck. First his movement was hesitant and as his greedy paw came closer to her, he became more confident. His new found confidence soon vanished into thin air as the woman he had attempted to steal from moved swiftly. In a mere blink of a lazy eye she had firm hold of his scrawny wrist and small blade to his neck. She sensed the boy was about to cry out and she issued an unceremonial "shush" in his face. He couldn't help it, as her hood fell away; all he could stare at were her eyes. They were horrifying and compelling all at the same time. Her colouring was unusual for these parts and therefore striking. The dark hair fell over her tanned appearance and the pale green of her eyes sent his little head swimming. "What did you want?"

_Silence._

"I can't help you if you don't speak _boy_", she sliced at him. Her hands were bruised from the night before, but this didn't stop her vice-like grip on his arm nor did it make the pressure placed on the blade any lighter. "Speak", she ordered him.

"Nothing", said the boy with all the pride he could muster.

"Then leave me to my rest rat", she quipped and threw him roughly from her. The boy landed on his backside in the dirt, but wisely made no attempt at further retort.

The woman glared at the dappled sunshine that fell on the dust at her feet as she rose and with a shrug of her cloak she headed further into the alley towards her _money._ The item she had retrieved the evening before was still in her possession and should profit her well in any case. Her eyes traveled all around her. The narrow alley was void of life. The previous evening's miss-hap had left a certain mark on her mental state and she had spent half the night in dream like state of berating herself for such a silly and minor error. Small errors was something she was not used to at all. She was not used to them because she did not make them and she did not make them because she further knew that they would cost her life. Blood stains meant little; it was the gold the blood coated that was the most important source of happiness. Her pupils dilated wildly in the poor light of the tavern maze as the thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind.

At the "T" created by the crossing of the two paths was a small wooden door that looked more dilapidated than functional. The woman outstretched a hand and wrapped sharply on the door. The action caused an internal grimace due to the state of her hands. Sarka made a mental note to herself that rope would be far more functional for scaling walls in the future; not that it would make a difference. She never listened to her own advice and rarely gave it.

The small door opened to reveal a glimpse of a dark and smoky interior. As soon as it opened she did not hesitate and stepped through to the other side. The interior was as gloomy as the exterior had promised to be. Sarka took no notice of the heavy atmosphere of smoke, she had been here before and was accustomed to it all. There were groups of secluded individuals, each clearly indepth with the members of the group. Her feet took her past the man who had allowed her entrance and she continued to an inner part of the strange meeting place. Sarka threw aside a curtain and regarded the man she had seen only twice previously.

He greeted her with apparent affection, "Good evening Sarka".

"That name is both offensive and unattractive", she replied lacking the apparent affection.

"Describes you perfectly though and as you go by no other name, I am forced to call you Sarka", he met her hostility with amusement. The man she conversed with old and grotesquely over weight. She had never taken to liking anyone on any of her travels, but he radiated a certain dislike. She did not trust him with good reason, but she was forced to bargain with him for the sake of riches. The man pushed aside the hostility he was receiving in a mere glance and offered the woman a seat upon a cushion. To refuse would have been a declaration of war, so she wisely chose to be seated. However, the soft material did little to soothe her.

"Tea?"

"No thank you", she replied curtly as he took a large sip from his own cup of mint tea. The smell of food was tempting to her, but she refused on principle.

"Very well, it appears you want nothing but the feel of cold metal against your palms".

"Something like that", she replied evenly. Around her stood three men leaning against the sides of the building. Their presence was not as comforting to Sarka as it was to man known as the _Magpie_. Perhaps we should explain a little about this man and his relation to Sarka. The Magpie, as he is known, collected riches and then passed them on or more accurately sold them on. As thief and as a talented thief, it was paramount to make this man's acquaintance. Even more important was to remain in his favour without becoming a minion. It was a fine line that, so far, Sarka had been able to maintain.

"I take it you have a present that I must somehow find of some value-"

"They are always legitimate, lets not have you putting a mark on my delightful reputation", she interrupted.

"Whatever", he replied. "Rumour has it you have upset the governor".

"Rumour claims to know a lot".

"Fine. I claim that you have upset the governor", he clarified.

"And?"

"I don't know if we can find an arrangement to suit us both".

"Come again?" Sarka gave away little of her agitation as she sat opposite the Magpie, but she was not at all happy with this turn of events. What did he mean that they couldn't come to an arrangement? What was he playing at?

"The governor never gets robbed Sarka-"

"Must you refer to it so distastefully?"

"I'm not an _optimate_ so my words are simple and few. You know what I mean", he replied to her question.

"You're afraid to take the artwork-"

"I never said I was _afraid"_, he broke in. Sarka glared at him with ferocity and her patience was wearing thin. She had not planned for soo long for it all to be ruined by one pompous swine. Her right leg straightened out and from the side of her boot she retrieved the item that was the topic of debate. With a flick of her wrist the old sketch was rolled out before the over indulgent Magpie. His eyes opened that little bit wider in his disgusting face. Before him lay the picture of the man of horseback. The gaze from the picture and the gaze of the woman opposite him held astonishing similarities; they both showed the same determination. He was slow in replying to her, "My dear thieving Sarka. It was never that I was not going to take the piece of your hands. It was the case that you were not going to like the arrangement".

The men in the room gathered in closer and she could feel their presence, but she did not move her gaze from the Magpie as he spoke.

"Don't look at me like that either. You and I both know that touching the governor was a stupid thing to do. That, that and the fact you are becoming too big headed and I can't abide by it. Show me respect Sarka, that was all I asked and you never did therefore suffer the consequences. I won't have your stupidity land me in the gallows".

She continued to glare without a word as they came behind her and dragged her to her feet. She didn't make a sound as they then dragged her from the room. The only thing that halted her glare was the stinking black sack they placed over her head. At that point she began to struggle, but a thief isn't known for the ability to wrestle. Her gifts of lithe movement and stealth meant little now and as the first blow landed across her face, she reverently wished she had the power to fight back.


	6. Breeze

"The world lays as bloodied shards of humanity in a fitful slumber of unforgivable shame"

**Breeze**

Five months had passed since that moment.

Her hands had long since healed from her last excursion. The raw grazes from the rough stone walls had turned to scabs and then healed to peel back revealing the new skin beneath. The bruises on her hands had been overcome and the same flawless colour had been restored despite the dirt that covered it, but the mind remained in those moments as the moon had sailed over her dark head over the long and unknown voyage. Her eyes had gazed at the same spot in the murky gloom all through the ship's long and laborious journey. The wood had been worn and was a dark colour from the rare coat of oil it had once been blessed with receiving. During some nights the lower hull would be bombarded with the vicious waves of the sea and by some days the cursed wind would richochet all around the smallest nooks of the galley. A terrible smell had hung in the stagnant air throughout the entire time Sarka had been chained to that one filthy spot. Whilst her knuckles had been healed, her wrists had been cruelly gnawed at by the rusty bite of cuffs. The wound on her left wrist began to fester on the fifth day down below on that cursed ship that was flung like a doll over the waves. One hurt simply replaced another. _Isn't that just the crux of the eternal question we continuosly ask ourselves: Why are we on this forsaken piece of earth? Simply to try and try again to little avail. _She was often to be found with such thoughts circling the drain of her mind. Her fellow slavish companions were in no better state, however, the difference lay in the fact that while they wailed; Sarka remained the silent one. The deep-set, silent and thoughtful one.

Wherever she had been taken it was far colder than any of the lands she had visited before. Sarka correctly deduced, in her hungry and cold state, that she had travelled north of the continent. The boat had moored in a lone harbour and two days later three more ships had arrived; they were of a far superior quality than what the slavish individuals were used to of course. Sarka's time keeping was made possible by the coming and passing of the moon high in the cold night sky.

Another three days passed before Sarka could gather any more information concerning her possible future. The night was exceptionally cold and, as usual, the woman slept fitfully. Her eyes never fully closing and her body never at any point experiencing real relief. There was always a sense of anticipation in the air amongst her slavish companions. Chained together they might have been, but they certainly were never united. In the middle of the chilling night there was a thudding sound from above which was soon followed by the sliding of a bolt and then the pull of chains. A burning torch descended into their field of blurred vision and a hulking figure with it. It soon became clear that this figure had one purpose or person in mind. It came in long strides for Sarka. She was grabbed via a fistful of her dark hair, unchained and dragged to the galley stairs. Her chipped nails dug deep, but to no apparent avail. The grip on her was tight and unyielding as she was hauled into the night air and thrown onto the surface of the deck. Half starved she took a moment to register the voice yelling at her. "Keyna!" The sound slowly and painfully filtered through to her. "Stand!" This time the same voice attempted a different language. Sarka gradually became aware that it was some time in the hours of darkness. Her subconscious silently rejoiced as she felt a fresh breeze weave through her matted hair and registered that she was finally outside again. Surrounding her gaunt and worn body where three individuals. One was a large man; the one who had dragged her from her companions and the other two were adorned richly. From the manner and tone she presumed that the shorter was the one who, presently, owned her body and soul. Sarka was still lost in her surrounding and did not hear the hulk of man yell at her once more to "stand". As a result there was the rather unpleasant sensation of a whip curling round her back. The pain was instantaneous and she dropped further to the wooden deck beneath her bare hands. Her breath was strangled in her throat and she was unable to move from the shock. The yelling turned to a screaming and taking her inability to move for defiance the lashing became more frequent. As the seventh lash fell across her poorly protected back, there was the distinct sound of beaten flesh. The sound of cruel leather meeting the freshly broken skin of a defenceless back.

"I don't want _it_", said a voice from above. With her face to the cool wood beneath her, Sarka listened further without moving. "Discounted goods are one thing, damaged goods are another", said the voice. It was rough lacking the graces of social etiquette.

"Deals are deals-"

"And we haven't made one yet; don't mistake my words for weakness. Beat them all black and blue if it makes you feel any better, but for heaven's sake, how am I meant to sell a woman that is scarred that badly?"

From the shorter man came the sound of bemused agreement. He spoke in a language that the beaten woman on the floor could not comprehend whether it was because of her state or lack of education. She was simply grateful that the stinging kiss of the curling whip could no longer be felt. The sound of bartering was in her ears and when a cloak was thrown over her shouders she assumed a diktat had been reached.

A heavy hand landed on her heated shoulder and with a slight flinch she went forth behind her new owner.


	7. Wool Before the Eyes

_"A long way from the drunken dreams of my life"_

**Wool before the eyes**

"I have no need for the green today", she said to the young maid at her feet. "I shall settle for the blue", she finished and the maid quickly set about her task. The woman's gaze did not linger in the mirror before her, but drifted back and forth along the planes of the land that could be viewed from her spacious room. It was early in the morning and windows that lead out onto the patio terrace had been opened wide so the cooling air could circulate the room. Her honey eyes flitted from the tall and shadowed mountains right down to the green vyne that gently tracked its way around the marble collumns of her terrace balcony. She gave a light sigh and closed her eyes so that the dark length of her lashes rested gently upon the rising curve of her cheek. The woman's dreams had not been pleasant of late. _My nights are his playground_, she thought to herself as the young woman began to lace the tendrils of her curls into order. The beautiful mass of silken locks fell lightly over her shoulders and brushed the top of the corset she traditionally wore over her pleasantly coloured blouse. Her expression had unwittingly become expressive of her sorrow as her mind lapsed to the events of the previous evening. The young maid, who had finished with her mistress's mode of dress, drew back for an instant and then hesistantly stated, "Don't worry, it can only get better". The young maid enphasised the point by placing an affectionate hand upon the older woman's upper arm. The gesture did little to rouse the other woman as she did even make a reply. The young maid then left her quite alone staring out into the beyond.

xxxx

"Show me your wrists".

The words spoken hung in the air and the woman at his feet made no response. He watched her silently for a moment. The woman he had recently purchased sat with one of her knees brought up to her chest. Both of her hands lay clenched and crossed at her throat. The thin linen of her tunic was worn, torn, and filthy revealing the skin beneath. "Show me your wrists", he repeated, but her head remained downcast with the disconcerting black capturing his attention. He sank to his haunches and noticed the cool draught that bit at his toes through the light sandals he wore. In his hands he held a small jar of soothing ointment designed to quel the sting of pain and ward off infection. It was his intention to see to the grazes and slashes across her back. "Come", he said and reached for her clenched hand. At the first contact he noted how cold her hands were, but more importantly her head rose and her eyes bored into his. The light green appeared menacing and daunting against the black of her hair. "My, my, what an interesting piece you are", said the man as he released his delicate hold. "This", he said raising the small jar, "This will help you. Let me help you". His years of experience waited for a sign of acceptance, but none came. All he saw was a flickering that briefly passed over the expressive surface of her iris's. He finally realised that she had no comprehension of the language he was speaking. "You have come from far if you cannot understand the language of currency", he said and he saw the calculation of her mind as she tried unsuccessfully to comprehend his words. The man tried a different tact, "If you cannot speak Roma, then what about a bit of English?" At the change of tone and utterance the woman regarded him closer and he knew that she understood. For the third time he repeated his instruction, "Show me your wrists". He watched as she outstretched her worn wrists without a hint of trepadation and he could feel her assessing gaze burning him.

She did not watch as the stranger saw to her wrists. Her eyes travelled along his frame and saw the person. His skin was darker than her own and his head was completely void of hair. It left what appeared to be a smooth surface that caught the late afternoon light at different angles. His exact age was indeterminable, but to her jaded eye he appeared to be twice her age. He finished his task of applying salve and wrapping the damaged wrists in linen. When he looked up the same green eyes were still boring into him and he noted how her gaze lingered on the kohl around his dark eyes. The scent of water-lilies that he was bathed in also confused her if the expression was anything to go by. "It intrigues me that you ask no questions", he said.

She made no reply.

"Is there nothing you wish to know?"

His further prompting caused her to speak, "What can I learn through speech that I can't learn simply by watching?"

"Every land has their own language and you know nothing of this one. How do you hope to survive without the gift of tongue?"

She was silence and the man rocked back upon the soles of his thin sandals. The light in her eyes betrayed most of what she felt.

"Welcome to the land north of the east Nimue", he said in the face of her apparent silence. "There are many new things you will learn", he finished raising himself.

"I have a name", she said and he halted at the simple statement.

"Really?" The man moved to the far side of the kraal taking his time to move several folds of linen. There was silence around them both apart from the sounds of their voices. She had no idea where any of the others were. She had no idea if there were any others. She watched is back as he said, "I have a name too". He turned back to where she sat with linen in his hands. It was a light green cloth. Light in texture as the gentle breeze buffered it slightly. The woman on the floor regarderd him suspiciously. "I am in need of a creature that will capture the imaginations of the masses", he said.

"Then look for a beast with two heads".

He made no reply to her and walked closer. The material was placed over a thin arm and he said, "Have not you thought of why you are alone? Cared for?"

"As usual everyone has a motive",she replied.

"Your tongue won't be tolerated forever. I once had a lover who would bicker and fight over anything. Beautiful, but spoilt. I had his tongue cut out as a public warning to all my underlings".

"Thank God I am a woman then".

"Indeed, but take it as a warning", he replied with bite. "This", he held the green cloth before her eyes, "This is the reason you survive".

She looked at him.

"My name is Bacchus and yes, my unknown father did have a sense of humour when he named me. I own slaves and I make money from them selling them on to other masters. I was struck by your look, niether beautiful nor ugly, niether soft nor abrasive. It would be such a waste to sell you to some ungrateful master. To see you waste your life in a kitchen would break my artful soul, but then again I personally have little use for you, as you said, you are not a man".

"Then what kind of lucrative tool would I be? I highly doubt the possibility of freedom has ever crossed your mind".

"You are right, I have never thought of such a financial pitfall, but like my father I too have a sense of humour", he paused briefly then continued, "Before the madness and piety of Christendom the world was a free place".

"It was barbaric you mean", she interruted.

He sat on his haunches once more before her and reached out for both of her hands and dragged her to stand up. He called to the shadows and an old woman appeared dragging a huge metal pot brimming with hot water. Out in the open air the steam rose from the water. She was made to stand near the warm water and she saw the old woman reach out for a cloth and soap of some kind. The old woman payed no attention to the younger as she set about her task of creating suds in the warm water. The ragged tunic was ripped from her body and the soapy lather was applied vigorously to her skin.

"As I was saying, it was a free place. There were many Gods and religions; each with their own benefits. Life was soo much more intriguing than it is now, but what if it was possible to give back, to give the people a taste of that simplicity".

"I don't understand", she faltered as another round of goosebumbs broke out across her skin as the wind sweetly caressed her.

"How's your education? You don't appear burdened with the normal stupidity of one confined to slavery".

"Enough to live", came her short reply brooking no further enquiry.

The man took a step back as a bucket of water was poured over her head and the old woman set to work on her hair; literally bending the younger woman to her will. "There was once a race, the Hellenes, who had many different Gods. Now the beauty of their religion was that they were able to communicate with their Gods, atleast that's what the masses actually believed. The polis of Sparta was particularly important in these matters as they were closely associated with the Delphic Oracle. Women were chosen to enter the order and the high priestess would enter a trance gifted by the God Appollo". A final bucket was placed over her head and the old woman began to dry her hair and body. "Many people of noble birth and the poor a like traveled miles and miles to visit the site. In the time of the Persian invasion, the great Athenian general, Cleisthenes, sent for a prophecy about the coming invasion. He was told that the _wooden walls _would protect the people. The sea battle of Salimis and others eventually repelled the Persians. The _wooden walls_ were the navy that Cleisthenes constructed after Marathon. Do you see the power that was wielded by the high priest? The money he recieved? You shall be the priestess, the intercession", he finished flamboyantly.

"We live in a world far removed from then, most will burn you as a heathen first".

"Hundreds of years after the fall of Sparta, the Romans were still paying for reenactments. The legend lived on in the red of the legions. When Trajan marched against Parthia there were Spartans posturing in the front lines. It is always about the legend". The old woman began to place the cloth over her new mistress.

"A sight for the nobility to be enthralled by then. Something to entertain them on cold and lonely nights?"

"I was brought up by my mother, that may mean little to you, but be aware she taught me some morals at least".

"Meaning?"

"I will not be selling you to the carnal pleasures of lonely men", he said and paused before adding slyly, "Or women for that matter".

"My mind is at ease then", she replied sarcastically. The length of the dress fell past her ankles to pool lightly at her feet. Her skin had been scrubbed and held a rare luminous quality in the fading light of day. The green fabric hung low across her back and streched across her breasts to tie neatly at the back of her neck. The ribbon hung down her back and touched the angry red lashing across her back. The old woman was about to apply kohl and colour to her face, but was stopped sharply by the man, "No". The sharp tone caused the woman to stop and the younger to turn to face him. Her bare feet barely exposed by the light green material. "It is enough, we don't want her looking like a _houri_ now do we? The scarring will fade, but apply the salve in the evening all the same. Stay with her and keep her". He turned to leave his newest folly and heard her say hesitantly, "My name is Sarka".


	8. La Vita Sobria

"_**There is soo much hate for the ones we love"**_

**La Vita Sobria**

"Hate…"

"…Hate…"

The sound of his voice hung in the enclosed atmosphere.

"…A little four letter word to spread over the centuries with such devastating effect", he said and tossed the scrap of paper to the floor. The eyes of the being didn't follow the scraps decent to the floor where it finally lay there abandoned.

His voice echoed and rebounded off the wall to fall back upon his own deaf ears. Ears that were deaf to the sentiments behind the words. They were, after all, nothing but a mere fool's folly. Who would listen to such foolish prattle? All these words came together to construct a phrase that could sum up the entirety of a man's existence. Who would read such foolery and idle nonsense? Or worse, who took such foolishness to heart. It was common ideology to the being that those that created such foolish sentiments were those that suffered at the hands of others. _Those_ that wrote of such sickening romanticide, _those_ that wrote of the human soul enduring all and far beyond. _Beyond,_ it was the optimum word in such wanderings of the mind…over the hills and far away into the imaginary Utopia, to be more precise, as far as he was concerned. He did not consider himself to cruel only a realist.

Despite the passing of the years and the drudgery of so many a foul a deed, the blue of his eyes never faded and simply remained the serene azure. It was written in many accounts over the numerous years how they were the first to entice the unsuspecting into his grasp. They were the apparent windows into the soul of the being. Pity the being had never had a soul to begin with. The eyes, the blue orbs, were also the first to betray the all consuming madness that corroded and contorted the extraordinary vision. (There would be soo few like him and this was both a blessing and a curse for mankind to say the least.) Though none had ever escaped his grasp, there were the prospering tales of the demonic light that flooded those brilliant azure depths and blinded the sanity of any human confronted by him; male or female. The little tales of the gypsies had come and gone over the years and there was always a dashing young man prepared to lay his life down for the cause of _good_. He always thought that mortals could have better spent their time in other pursuits, but wasn't their dedication an amusing trait?

The being in question regarded the tall edifice of the south wall with contemplative interest. The finely sanded stone was covered in a light coating of white-wash which gave it a light and ethereal quality. From the north of the room came the gentle streaming of sunlight which accompanied the morning. The light hit his back and cast no shadows across his broad shoulders or aristoi features that still contemplated the wall. The stately room itself was dessert less of life. Large windows lacked drapes and the wood beneath his feet lacked the lustre of days gone by. The furniture was covered in yards of white linen and the effect of the sunlight upon the reflecting fabric made the entire room glow with unearthly qualities.

Twice he moved his hands from behind his back to fold at his chest. The black of his clothes contrasted sharply with the white of his surroundings. "To hang the piece in the gallery or here", said the man to himself. The demon of many tales was caught within the complexes of decorating the new abode to the great irony of his many victims. In sharp contrast to the tales told by the gypsies, here stood the Vampyre, in sunlight, with his mind firmly focused on a wall hanging to be placed in the _new_ manor. The Valerious child was an amusing past time, a hazardous past time, but a past time never the less.

"Gustav", he called. It was neither loud nor commanding, but it wasn't long before a human was scurrying into the room with as much grace as the man could muster. Without turning to address the man in the respectful fashion, the Vampyre spoke simply with an arrogant flick of his wrist, "Hang the Gregarian piece on the south wall". Without so much as a _thank you_ he would have silently dismissed the man if he had not discerned the man's strange line of thought. He turned from the wall to look at the untainted human; it was best to keep the _help_ in good working order. "Yes? What else?"

The man said nothing for the first instant and the Count responded by the raising of an eyebrow as the man's thoughts jumbled into necessary order. "Well Gustav, confused or just disobedient?"

"No my lord, just, just, there are visitors", replied the manservant with obvious cowardice.

"Visitors?"

"Visitors my lord", he repeated.

The demon replied more to himself than the servant as he said, "Visitors this far from civilization?" He looked out over the miraculously manicured lawns that stretched out to be teased by the wild nature of the surrounding southern Romanian landscape. The green created beautifully differentiating colours in his eyes. Light and then dark with abounding sense and order; something that appealed to a part of him. The servant shifted nervously and the Count was brought back to his current situation. "Bring them to the drawing room and let us be social as my forefathers were", he told the man before him who would have left immediately if the demon hadn't continued, "Don't act to be such a coward Gustave, what will the _neighbours_ think?"

"Yes my lord", replied the manservant and he left promptly.

Left on his own the demon turned to look at the naked wall once again. His expression was blank, but his mind was firm and always in calculating action. He became aware that his visitors were in the manor if he focused. Their auras consisted of the usual enquiring aristoi. He gave a light sigh in remembrance of the days gone by. In the silent aftermath there was nothing left but the silence of his mind.

The drawing room was a beautifully constructed state affair with a domed arch completed with a crystal chandelier. In the evening the tall candles would be lit and cast gentle shadows across the entire room creating a warm and inviting atmosphere, but now it was day and the sun streamed in through the patio doors onto the fine carpet embossed with gold thread. The room spoke of grandeur and wealth; a time of forgotten tyrannical power.

"Forgive my late appearance, I have spent much time from the arts of social etiquette", he spoke with heightened airs and made a mental note of the unintended pun. "I had also not expected the presence of such beautiful women", he added and bowed graciously before the two ladies. The eyes beckoned them and, slowly, their spoilt pouts became radiating smiles.

"You can surely be forgiven in the face of such gallant flattery", replied the woman with the honeyed eyes and hair of spun gold. She and her companion reeked of wealth in dress and manner. The honeyed treasure was dressed in light pastels. A lighter shade of the palest of pink rose which was off set by her skin; the colour of cream. It must have been the fashion.

"In that case I may rest more peacefully in the dead of the night", he said and took a deliberate step forward adding for good measure, "A gracious lady, indeed, to show such mercy". He concluded the suave complement by placing a light fluttering kiss across her white gloved knuckles and moved away. Her honeyed orbs remaining enticed by the eternal blue and her hand, though gloved, remembered the cool touch.

"Indeed", interrupted the woman's companion in this increasingly interesting visit. His gaze moved to glance upon the companion and he was pleasantly surprised to find her an exact replica of the previous honeyed beauty. She had chosen the primrose to emulate and the only difference between her and her companion was the blue of her eyes. They were cold and assessing. It was perfectly apparent to the man that it had not been the blued-eyed woman's choice to visit. He was finding the move to civilization very interesting indeed. "Please, seat yourselves and won't you partake in refreshments ladies?" They both seated themselves on the same reclining couch in the exact same posture, but altering expressions. Both accepted a fine porcelain cup and saucer filled with light lime tea. He regarded them both for a moment with their gloves aside and delicate hands handling the dainty porcelain before continuing, "To what and to whom do I owe the pleasure of your company ladies".

The first and obviously smitten female blushed an enchanting pink to complement her dress while the second replied fluently, "I am Miss Krackov and this is my sister-"

"Amelia, my name is Amelia Krackov", interrupted the first who was soon to hide behind her cup of spiced tea with very deliberate movements.

"Yes, she is. Mine is Selene", finished her twin in an effort to cover her sister's blunder.

He still stood as he said, "A pleasure to meet you both. I may be known to you simply as the Count".

Amelia looked disappointed she was not privy to more information where her sister looked more inquisitive at the odd statement.

"_Selene, _the goddess of the moon. Named for the blue of your eyes I take it", he said. She made no reply and he added, "They are captivating". Still she made no reply and he had his answer. He had been cleverly gauging her character and reaction to the complements. Where some women responded well and were wrapped around his finger, Selene was not. _An apparently boring childhood_ he concluded to himself. "Are you from near here? I was not entirely aware I had such neighbours", he asked the question and then retreated to a chair himself.

Selene answered the question first, "The previous occupants were close friends of ours, we did not realise they had _left_ us until today". Her eyes were downcast for an instant betraying little of what she thought. She continued with the aim of recovering, "The Histati were very good friends of ours as the Valerious family always had such little time to socialize-"

"You knew the Valerious family?"

"We _know _Anna", replied Amelia. "She was with us during our first season out in Istanbul. It was a beautiful summer", finished the more naïve of the two with her eyes gazing into happy memories. Selene remained silent apparently wishing the name _Valerious_ had never been brought up. The Count watched the expressions run across the face of Amelia and it became very clear to him that she was aware of the stories surrounding the gypsy princess. _How interesting it would be hear from an outsider_. "Tell me what troubles you Amelia", he asked.

The woman named Selene turned a shade paler in the afternoon light. The demon spared her a brief glance and found himself incredibly amused at her reaction. Her sister noticed the tension radiating from her and was quick to say, "I would not wish to bore you Count with such a trivial matters-"

"On the contrary, you are my _neighbours_ now, this means we are surely friends by alliance and your troubles are mine", he completed the sentence on the pretence of brotherly affection.

"We will be missed by now, thank you, but we did not mean to intrude upon your hospitality, _Count_". Selene immediately stood, completely agitated, and smiled graciously at her host. Her sister followed at a slower pace. Selene was perfectly ready to leave, but the Count remained seated and said, "Have no fear for you did not", his charming smile widened and his hands reached a steeple as he sat there regarding the woman. "In fact, you have Saved me from boredom. A fate worse than death for me, as I hate to experienced it. Indeed, your presence has saved me from much inconvenience…"


	9. Tread Lightly

"_**They spoke of novelties, such as "civilization", when it was simply a feature of their enslavement"**_

_**- Tacitus**_

**Tread Lightly**

It was the early hours of the morning when she awoke. Their journey had become a frosty one and she was not used to the biting kiss of the wind in this new land. The sun had not risen yet and her eyes opened to view the roof of the dismal tent. As with all valuable possessions she was treated _well_ and exempt from the mortifying life of those that were less fortunate in their circumstances. Others fared worse beneath the cold glare of the stars covering the night. Never the less the domed roof was as grey as the day that would await her. With stiff movements she raised herself on her hands and the covers fell forward to reveal the grey shift beneath. _Only a pretty slave when on show_. Without much hesitation the rest of the covers were completely thrown off and she proceeded to bathe. It was a far cry from the aristocratic necessitates of the day, but it was something the _Magpie_ was certainly not use to. _Why wash when you'll become dirty again? _It had been a favourite line of hers back in the days of choice. The water within the bowl was cool against her fingers and chilling against the skin of her face. Her long obsidian locks fell heavily to one side and it was a battle to keep them from falling straight into the water itself. Her crude soap became smaller in her hands as she lathered her hands and proceeded to scrub her face. When the chilling task was completed there was a faint tinting of colour along her cheek bones, but it did not last. The pale pallor returned after her pores recovered from the grating they had received.

Since her purchase much had come and passed. It was not only the weather that had changed to suit the mood of the mortal. In the pale light that comes before the break of dawn she watched two black birds flutter from branch to branch. As always there were paid guards circling the encampment. The _master _would never trust his _subjects_. The Magpie entered a larger and richer tent. Within it resided the master and his many strange treasures. It was a ritual that would occur every day before the night of the full moon and ever eternal since the _enterprise _had first been successful.

Gossip was wheeling its way all over the area concerning the strange prophet from a land far, far away.

Sarka tread softly avoiding the attention of the master at the far end of the cloistered room. It appeared to her that her never slept, but was always keeping a profitable eye out on the horizon. Away from him her green eyes followed the patterned rugs beneath her bare feet and never strayed beyond. At the end of her well practiced movements she sat on the floor with her long legs crossed beneath the grey shift. She wasn't used to the cooler weather and a light breeze trickled over her skin and sent a slight tremor down her thin frame. On appearance Sarka had become thinner over the months losing the soft supple curves that had originally proclaimed her as a beautiful woman. It had not all been caused by the poor diet she was subjected too, indeed, much had to do with the accessories of her _act_, but there were worse things that she could have done or to be more precise, there were worse things she could have been forced to do.

The crack of dawn came slowly and the room began to filter with the watery light of day rather than just the light from numerous lanterns strung across the room. The woman's eyes closed and her breathing deepened as she simply waited. Another woman appeared behind Sarka not long after and began to brush the long length of her black locks. The woman was familiar to Sarka, but she would make no comment whilst the master remained at the far end of the room apparently engaged in conversation. When the task had been completed she was made to stand and the loose shift was removed. Standing in the light draft with not a thread of material had all been part of the process. To be a slave is not to be human, for how could a human be treated thus? In the first instance it had occurred, it had been a mortifying experience and now, now it just _happened_. The Magpie stood there apparently unaware of any humiliation.

On her right arm she experienced a tingling sensation. It was cool and not entirely unpleasant as the herbs of _henna _were placed in intricate designs across her arm and down to her palms. The process explained why she was preparing for her act so early in the day. She was left to stand as the paste of the herbs dried slowly on her skin. Sarka had never paid attention to the designs, but if she had, she would of seen whorls and loops that represented the languages of times long since past. The patterns themselves were supposedly from the desecrated temple of Troy. There was nothing more suitable for the Oracle to have painted across her pale skin.

The backs of her legs were becoming tired and still she stood. None of the others who passed in and out of the tent paid her the slightest bit of attention. Again, who would consider the feelings of one who isn't human? Finally, the other woman returned from other chores and proceeded to crumble away the dried herbs. Beneath the crumbling layer lay red patterns that would turn a darker brown as the day went on. An icy flannel was applied to the areas and gently cleaned away the last of the dried herbs. Cool creams were also applied to her skin, firstly to aid the intricate designs and secondly for her skin to appear in the light of perfection. Next, swathes of material were placed around her body. It was fine linen wrapped over her body and a shoulder with the rest trailing behind. The cold fabric against her skin was still marvellous compared to her previous state of undress. With her hair pinned back neatly, a plain yard of blue linen was lowered over her head and the whole picture gave nothing away of her master's schemes. The picture spoke of piety, not deceit.

"Finally, we have some progress to commend", said the man constantly referred to as "master" as he timed his entrance onto the scene perfectly. To an outsider looking in he was odd to say the least. Slaves can never judge without a penalty, but luckily we are able to. He was a wealthy man, there was no doubt about it, but his habits and tastes were not of popular opinion. Where a man should have preferred the comfort of a woman, he was a man that preferred the comfort of neither or when occasion called for it the comfort of a talented young boy. As we have already said; hardly popular opinion. "Are we feeling better? Better than before?" He asked the question, but Sarka knew better than to take it as an actual inquiry. The tone and manner of his bearing was not that of a sympathising human being. The _trance _she had to enter during this act caused repercussions seen in her health (She did not know it, but her sight would be the first to fall to the price of the act). However, he simply wanted to know that she was still going to provide him with a lucrative business.

"Of course, thank you master, I am perfectly well", she said in the expected tones of subservience. After her first beating it had not taken long for her to simply acquire the taste for survival rather than proud defiance. Even her fiery eyes remained cast down at the floor, not even permitting herself to gaze at his slippered feet.

"Hmmm", he made the sound and she preferred not to interpret it. Sarka heard a rustling in the following silence and still didn't look up. "These are for your wrists", he said and something landed near the folds of her linen clothing. Without further comment the master exited. With him gone she looked to the floor and found strips of white silk. The items lay there for an instant and she didn't move. For an instant her eyes absorbed the sight. She had never touched silk before and with his exit she was presented with the opportunity to sink to her haunches and admire the weaving of the fabric as it caught the watery light. It slid so gently through her fingers. Sarka had _never_ seen such an item before which spoke volumes of an impoverished childhood. The elder woman entered her line of vision and spoke, "I see you have discovered silk. What is it for?"

"He said my wrists", she replied softly with the tinting of her foreigner's accent. "It's to hide them", she finished when the woman looked at her slightly puzzled. Impoverished childhood she might have had, but her mind was extremely agile. The other woman bent lower and took the strips from her hands saying, "Well, I don't think he wanted you just to stare at it love. Come, let us see what we can do before you must leave-"

"Leave?" Sarka asked the question directly with a hint of fear colouring her tones. Never, had she left the train to stray away into the cold unknown land. The land of darkened woods they had entered seemed to go on for an eternity. Sarka had been born in the land of endless dessert. It had been extremely disturbing for her to suddenly enter the enclosed environment of Europia's forests. The act had never left the train, but always remained in the relative safety of the grounds entertaining the locals with money. She had always inhaled the fumes in a darkened tent just beyond the room she was in at present. "Leave", she repeated the word. Her eyes were downcast and her brow slightly furrowed. It did not sound like a promising position to her. What had the _master _planned next for her?

"Yes, the talk of prophecies has reached many to the master's glee and now the rich are out to have their lives blessed by you dear".

"The rich are not idiots", replied Sarka. Her expression more relaxed, but never the less the sense of impending doom was never far away. In her mind she saw his plans and calculation. A bigger scheme would mean larger profits, but it was entirely more risky.

"No, they are not"

"Does he know this?"

"Hush!" The older woman immediately scolded Sarka with a hand heading to cover her mouth. "If you want to keep your tongue in your mouth then I suggest it does not go wagging like that", she said.

"I know", replied a subdued Sarka. "But, surely they can see through this little farce", she whispered close to the other woman.

"You are not in Tangiers now", said the woman to her face. The heavy scarring on her wrists from the shackles of soo long ago were hidden by the wrapping of the silk strips, but they acted as a sharp reminder. Once, twice and then a third time the silk was wrapped separately across each wrist with the long excess pooling at the floor. "You are all skin and bone these days".

"Don't you think it lends me an ethereal look", replied Sarka with a hint of sarcasm.

"Be happy with what you have Sarka", said the other woman without looking at her.

"I was never born a slave", Sarka said.

"Do you think I chose to be born into this? Do you think I didn't repent heartily the day my daughter was born?"

"I did not mean it to sound like that", she replied. The last knot was made at her left wrist, but they both remained on their haunches, now facing each other.

"It could have been worse, you are unusual and therefore a man's toy. He would have made many, many gold coins from selling you on to the highest bidder. He could have made you a _companion_ to the rich-"

"I would kill myself first", Sarka stated harshly.

The older woman raised herself from the ground on a _gallic _shrug and said simply, "You are a slave. We don't even have the power to condemn our own souls to hell love".

"I can't stay like this", she said to the other woman who had begun to leave. "You will see. I won't stay like this forever", she repeated adamantly.

"I doubt you will, but will the change be for better or for worse my dear?" There was a silence that stretched on, despite the hubbub from outside. The rest of the train had awoken and were about the daily duties. "Come, it is time to go", said the other woman. Sarka didn't respond immediately as her thoughts were far, far away…


	10. A Requisite

"**Take my tears and that's not nearly**** enough…"**

**A Requisite**

The manor house stood silently on the slight rise of a hill. Beneath the hill huddled a small farming community. The lush gardens used to be a favourite of the woman when she was a child. Her mother had often taken a special interest in the growth of wild roses. Their plumes and smell used to saturate the evening air in the summer time. Those lazy days filled with laughter and promise. Like the woman's mother, they too had long since died. The gardens had lost all their vigour and appetite for life. It was a sad sight to an old visitor. How it all lay in ruin and unorganised chaos. Brambles grew in thorny abandon where roses had once been tended so lovingly.

The old house was in a similar state. The large imposing front doors had been made of mahogany brought from lands far away. The house had been built by wealthy and happier counterparts in history. It had been a dark and sturdy wood chosen specifically for its magnificent lustre when polished with beeswax. However, with years of neglect it now never glowed with same warm inviting atmosphere. It was a ruined memory to a time long before. Corridors were empty. The curtains gathered dust and the once gorgeous reds turned grey. With the death of the monster hunter it seemed that even the servant's faith had failed in their mistress. She had been left quite alone after the dreadful night at the fortress of Dracula except for her two personal maids and manservant. These three had remained for an entire year.

The night Anna came home to find _refuge _she found no one. It may have been her last if it had not been for the loyal three.

For the following months they had supervised their mistress. They had kept her fed, clothed and cleansed. However, they could do nothing to keep her mind safe from the manifestations of the dark. They had never been witness to any of the events that plagued their mistress, but they never doubted her sanity. Soo much had happened and rural folk were superstitious at the best of times. The nights were the worst with her screams and the rush to defend her against whatever it was that was plaguing her. When they arrived it would always be too late and Anna would say nothing of what happened, but stare blankly ahead of herself.

But the night ahead of her would be the worst yet for, unbeknown to Anna, she was alone in the house. Due to darker forces beyond their control all three of the loyal companions were missing from the house. The house was deserted of mortals.

The woman in question sat with one knee over the other in a winged chair. The upholstery of the chair was worn, but once was covered in a floral pattern of red and white. Her back sank into the old chair's depths and her aching head lay back against the rest. She was tired and felt older than the Carpathians themselves. She lacked all weaponry, bar a crafted dagger that rested on the table beside the chair. There was no fireplace in the room and Anna was dressed in simple white with a matching shawl. Oblivious to the cold of the darkening room she drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

_The forested wood was cool with a light breeze causing the branches to brush past one another. The gentle whispering weaved its way through the old oaks and sycamores. All of the leaves on the many trees were emerald green and the sunlight drifted down in long shafts of gold. There was little foliage covering the ground and it appeared that everything was in its prime. The entire scene was filled with golden glory. From her right she heard feminine voices which were very familiar to her._

"_Anna", they sweetly called. The woman turned in their direction. "Anna! Come and join us, we have missed you", said the voices to her from a distance. Anna started forward and pushed her way past a branch that was hung across her path. "Come on, hurry! Where are you? Anna?" The voices were no longer ahead of her, but apparently originated from the side of her current position. Briefly a confused expression flitted across her delicate features before she pushed them aside and started out again in a different direction. "Anna", the voices called together in unison, "Where are you?"_

"_I'm here!" The woman shouted out to the seemingly tranquil woodland. "I'm here", she called out to the voices she now recognised as two of her old friends; Selene and Amelia. Anna stopped suddenly quite breathless and vexed. She could hear their calls perfectly, but try as she might it appeared that they were no where to be found, that or they played a superb game of hide and seek. _

"_Anna?" The voices called again from in front of her and Anna started off once more. As she moved another lush branch from her path she was pleasantly surprised to actually find Selene standing in the centre of a clearing she hadn't noticed before. Nothing in the afternoon air seemed abnormal to the woman filled with happiness at the sight of a friend. Selene, the elder twin, stood calmly as Anna approached her. She said, "Anna, it has been too long"._

"_Far too long Selene", replied Anna with tears in her eyes. She was coming closer and closer to the other younger woman. "How I've missed our walks and talks!"_

"_Indeed Anna, but I am here now and I'm not alone", said Selene and she moved slightly to one side. Behind__ Selene stood her sister, "We've missed you too Anna and we've brought a friend", said Amelia in her childish tones. Amelia stood to the other side and Anna halted immediately in mid-stride. Her happiness dissipated at the sight of the figure dressed in black revealed by Amelia's movements._

"_No", was the single word uttered first by the woman named Anna. "Leave them be", she said to the figure. The figure dressed in black spread his hands in appeal to her. His blue eyes mocked her. "Oh Anna my darling", he said in mock pain at her lack of trust._

"_Come Anna, join us for a walk", coaxed Selene. Her honeyed eyes held a blank portrait for it was not the friend Anna had known before. Selene's sister also added, "Yes Anna, don't be soo unsociable, you have kept yourself locked up for soo long now. It's high time you were out and about in this beautiful weather. I promise you, the Count is such a gentlemen, come with us". The Count walked to be level with Amelia, the shafts of sunlight passing over his features, and took her hand. The youngest woman's eyes immediately locked with his and he placed a light kiss across his knuckles. Without looking at Anna he said, "Such talented and sensible women, you have been so selfish in denying me their company Anna. Won't you make amends and join us for a relaxing stroll?" He turned with Amelia's hand still within his own and commented, "And besides, I believe the correct socialite expression is that, you simply looked fagged to death my dear and are in much need of refreshment"._

_Selene stood with her expression pleading and said, "Please Anna". The eldest woman tore her gaze from the demon to Selene. The tones that had been employed revealed her character briefly. It betrayed the fear Selene felt beneath the layers of her mind the Count had so graciously infiltrated. It was as if the woman was begging to be saved from the present situation, however, they also both knew Anna was powerless to stop it. They were all pawns in his little games. "Please", she repeated._

_The sounds of summer still lingered in her ears as the demon held out a hand with his offering, "Come to me Anna"._

_Anna made the first remark that entered her head, "It might rain later and I have much to do, I'm afraid I lack the time"._

_Instead of becoming angry the demon let go of Amelia and threw back his head with abundant laughter. The other two women stood silently and passively as the moment passed. The demon looked at her with a glint in his eye, "The weather shall be fine and I think you'll have a better chance of success with your hunting if you chose to accompany me"._

"_No", she replied and there was a faint flickering of the afternoon sun. The wind that weaved its way through the branches became more vicious for an instant. It seemed to rip the leaves from the branches for a moment. It all returned to normal when the demon reigned in his excessive temper._

"_I don't want to play games Anna and I know you are certainly not stupid", he said and his heavy lilt emphasised the last word with unconscious vigour._

"_You always seem to play games, at times I wish you would of just ended it-"_

"_End it my dear?" As he said the words Selene began to crumble to the forest floor. Her gloved hands clawed at her chest. To the dying woman it wasn't entirely clear what was causing her demise, but to Anna it was all too devastatingly clear. She bolted for the fallen woman and held her. Anna yelled at the demon, "Stop it! She is nothing to you"_

"_Indeed, it makes it that much easier to follow your commands of ending it my dearest Anna", he replied nonchalantly. _

"_Leave her be!" Anna cried out in vain as her friend of years before stopped her frantic movements and turned a ghastly blue as she was deprived of precious oxygen._

"_I can do nothing, this is your fault Anna. All you had to do was comply…"_

"_Liar! You did it, you always do it! Always there with your games that I can never win", she spat angrily at him. On her knees so close to the demon, but she would not abandon her dead friend._

"_Come with me Anna", he said._

"_Come Anna", repeated Amelia with a smile, unperturbed by her sister's murder. It was clear she was no longer of sane mind, but just another of his devoted minions. Amelia still stood in her pastels and quaint gloves of the purest white smiling happily._

"_Give me your body and soul Anna. You know I can end it all", he cooed at Anna. The demon went to stand just behind the honeyed beauty and he continued to speak with his hands gently stroking the halo of gold, "My beautiful Anna, so strong and courageous. It could all end and you could spend an eternity in my forgiving arms". Aware of Anna's halting gaze, one of his hands pushed aside the fall of Amelia's hair and the other circled her waist. "Come to me Anna of your own will", he said softly and placed a light kiss on Amelia's neck. The younger woman's lids fluttered down over her eyes at the gentle caress of promise and she moved her neck to __better aid his access. "Come to me Anna or there shall be a penalty for each occasion of defiance my dear"._

_She remained silent at the spectacle._

"_Choose Anna", he said carefully._

"_This isn't real", Anna repeated over and over again to herself. "This isn't real; you are simply in my mind. Selene isn't really dead and you can't touch me here"._

"_Chose Anna", he said._

"_It isn't real", she said looking at the woman on the floor in front of her. "You cannot make me chose!"_

"_Oh Anna", he said with his eyes boring into her own. Amelia gave a soul wrenching scream that pierced the heavens. Anna tore her eyes from his to watch the monster hold the dying beating heart of Amelia. It was horribly vivid for a supposed dream. The younger woman collapsed to the forest floor on sobs and screams. Amelia fell face forward to reveal the gaping wound in her back. Her beautiful pastels were shredded in the onslaught and her whitest gloves where spattered with her own mortal blood. It was an inhuman deed in moral and strength. Without so much as a backward glance the demon stepped over the second corpse he had created, careful not to spoil his Hessian boots, and came closer to Anna. At the sight of the still moving bloody pulp held in his hand Anna turned away in a protective posture over her old friend. She refused to look at him, but heard him say clearly, "I took her heart Anna; I want you to give me yours"._

"_Never", she whispered. "These are all dreams"._

"_Your dreams can't kill me Anna because you are powerless in them, but be careful for my dreams can kill all", he said in a mocking tone and it all went black._

Anna awoke in the chair panting as if she had run a mile. Her first thoughts were utter relief that it had all been a dream, but reality can never be suppressed for long. The room was dark with only the light falling through the windows from a crescent moon. A breeze entered through this opened window and danced upon her skin. The window had never been open originally, her clothes had not been wet and the taste of metal should not have been present on her tongue. Rivets of tears began to track their way down her smooth cheeks before she even looked down at herself and the weight resting on her thighs. Stealing herself for the task that lay before her, Anna looked down at her lap as she sat in the winged chair and saw a terrible sight. The saturated nature of her white clothing had been caused by the fresh blood oozing from a decapitated head. The features were contorted in, what must have been, excruciating pain and were barely recognisable as belonging to an old friend called Selene. Anna started to shake from the slight tremors raking her spine as she did not have the power to even scream. Clasped in the head's mouth was a note. Anna removed the ball of paper trying desperately not to touch the gruesome object; so fresh she felt it might have moved to speak to her. The note was simple and to the point as it read:

"_To my dearest Anna and the dreams we both share"_


	11. The Act

"_**Hurts like violence, Break the silence. Come crashing in, **_

_**Into my little world**__**"**_

**The Act**

To a stranger watching, or more precisely, to a lowly local commoner it would have been an interesting sight. It was lavish as it was rare. A smaller train of traveller's departed from the larger group early one morning. It twisted and snaked its way through some of the thickest parts of the woods apparently unperturbed at the thought of villains lurking in the shadows. It was if the master of the train had reached a deal with a darker force previously for anyone else would have worried and certainly taken greater care where they travelled. Then again who would want to attack a _prophet_?

Three horses rode with the company. One to lead and the other two horses were to follow. The master chose to lead with an air of over powering confidence. The trees that they passed seemed to lean over the path for a better look at the woman veiled by a multitude of fine cloth. All that could be seen of the woman was the faint outline of her form as the weak sun penetrated the gauze of her litter. Inside the litter a woman sat with long legs crossed in a state of light meditation. Her shadowed eyes gazed listlessly at the canopy and her patterned hands lay loose fallen at her sides. The litter was not covered in many a fine cushions; it was simple wood. Hard beneath her and it did little to keep the persistent cold at bay.

After some time on the small path there were noises to be heard. At the sound of these masculine voices the woman seated on the litter became more alert to her surroundings. Leaving her meditation she did her best to gain a better view of events, but her eyes were failing her. Just as her body had reacted negatively to the inhalation of interestingly dried herbs over a fire, so did her eyesight. Over the past months of performing the images she saw had become more and more vague. It was as if someone was pouring water gradually over a fine watercolour painting; slowly it was all becoming a blur of colours.

"Trader!" She heard an unfamiliar voice call out.

Another voice replied, this she recognised as the master, "From the house of Scribbia?"

"I'm sure you know very well", came the curt reply. It was obviously the immature tousle between two men of the classes for status over the other. Thankfully no one could see the disgusted look crossing over Sarka's face. _If only they wasted their energy on more entertaining pursuits,_ she thought to herself beneath the yards of gauze. _It might make my servitude a little more worthwhile._

"I am to lead you to where your", there was a pause as the manservant searched for the right word, "Train can set up camp-"

"I don't need a camp. Must I remind you that your master wishes to see what we have to offer", said Sarka's master. At this comment she made a scoffing noise, but not so loud that it was heard beyond her make-shift walls. "Where will your master be visiting us? That is all I need to know so we can make the right arrangements".

There was another significant pause given by the manservant. He finally said, "If you will follow me then I shall lead you to one of the fields beyond the castle grounds. It has been put aside for you".

The master never thanked the man, but took his small pointless victory as if it was a god-given right. Another point that angered the creature concealed in depths of dark gauze.

It was a shorter journey to the field that had been set aside in some of the stately home's grounds. It barely took a few minutes and as soon as the desired position had been reached the manservant left the master to order his own household. It did not take long for a large marquee to be put up in the centre of the field with a large fire burning just beyond the entrance. Adjuring the marquee a smaller, but arguing more intricate tent was placed. This was entirely dedicated to the apparent prophetess. Inside this make-shift room lay a thick carpet and a large divide of flowing black gauze that divided the viewing area from the so called _stage_. The viewing area lead directly from the larger tent and consisted of piles of richly adorned carpets. Beyond the gauze lay a small burning hearth. In the darkness of the room the coals glowed with an eerie quality that lit the gauze and made it dance with strange lights. No cushions or luxurious items populated this area of the room. For now Sarka sat upon the cold floor behind her gauze and simple waited. It was always the same. The paying guest would be entertained in the large marquee, there would be shouts brought on by alcohol and then, when the master was suitably convinced they were not entirely themselves, the guest would be brought in here and her role would commence. As she waited the time dragged on and drew itself out she reaffirmed her ambition that she would not remain here for much longer. _There must be more. Anything is better_.

When the masculine voices became closer she removed herself from her future scheming and brought her attention to the present. The viewing side of the gauze had better lighting available to it for the first reason to darken the view of Sarka and secondly it allowed her to judge her audience that much better. Her master's present guest was a nobleman considerably past his prime, but never the less it was obvious what had attracted the master to this man. He was richly attired and that spoke volumes of the magnitude of his wealth and status. When the master had seated his client, Sarka took to the tones of _Maiea_. It was a deep and melancholy sound that filled the smaller tent commanding immediate silence. The slightly intoxicated nobleman sat staring at the solitary figure behind the black gauze. Kneeling before the red coals of the small hearth Sarka spoke to the man. Her tones were low and her accent deliberately employed to make a greater impression, "What brings the master of the Scribbia household to my hearth?"

The master of the Scribbia household looked to the master for help, but all he did was nod as if to encourage the noblemen to speak. When the words finally left his mouth they were unsure and hesitant, "I want to know what you can tell me-"

"I can tell you nothing", Sarka bit and raised her eyes from the fire to the direction of the man speaking. "I am simply a tool and it would be wise not to forget such a thing if we are all to make it in this world without the wrath of those higher than ourselves", she finished on guttural tones with her eyes drawn back to the red coals. The man took a while to order his thoughts after her savage vent of words. Sarka noted this with wry amusement as she thought how no one had ever probably spoken to the master of Scribbia house as such.

"I have a question for you to ask", he started.

"Be sure of what you will ask before the window is opened for it can't remain so", Sarka stated stilled staring at the coals. On his words she had started to gently rock back and forth while her master looked on.

"I am sure", replied the man.

"Then ask".

"What will become of Anna Valerious concerning the demon that hounds her?" Behind the man the master flinched ever so slightly, but it was enough for Sarka to take note. She had no idea why he did flinch and she had no clue to guess that he wished feverently that Sarka would distract the man with another question he might like to ask. A question about money or family, just not a question that was likely to provoke the darkness of the country they travelled through. However, Sarka knew nothing of any of this. She thought that it was simply another rural superstition.

"Very well", she replied in soft tones to the man before her. "This I shall ask for you", she finished much to the inward dismay of her master because it would certainly mean trouble. As Sarka threw the enchanting herbs across the hot coals there was a distinct hissing to be heard and the nobleman was slightly taken back. Meanwhile, the master was lost in a moment of memory from a very long time ago when he had met the acquaintance of a certain aristocratic gentlemen on a very dark night. He also cursed the foolish nature of gossipmongers.

Sarka placed her hands over the smoking warming of the hearth and breathed deep. The smoke had long since failed to burn her as it did before. It no longer made the back of her throat raw and her skin itchy. She was, unfortunately, too used to the act. Very soon the narcotic concoction was making its way through her bloodstream and into her mind. She knew she was nearing the point where she would not remember her actions. The point where she would have to entirely trust her master; something that was never popular with any slave of any nature. The convulsions of her spine and guttural speak began to take over; Sarka's conscious mind was lost.

The sounds emitted from the woman beyond the gauze began to sincerely frighten the man. He shuffled back slightly under the gaze of the master. Her also turned to meet those eyes and asked, "What is happening? What is she saying?" There was a panicked undertone to the man's voice and, despite his own worries; this amused the master of Sarka. The master allowed time to slip by without answering the man's question. All he did was watch the light thrown from the coals shadow across the convulsing body of Sarka as she cried out horrendously. The man's eyes darted nervously from the body of the woman to the calm gaze of the master. When she had finally stopped, falling completely unconscious, and there was blessed silence in the air he spoke, "The window had closed and they have spoken".

"What did they say?"

The master was caught between a hard place and a rock. He was unsure of the response he had to give. Either way it would cause problems, but because of all his vanity he refused to look a fool in front of this man. He spoke, "The Valerious line will end".


	12. A Blind Start

"_**To stand on principle is to stand alone my friend"**_

**A Blind Start**

The night in these parts of the land had a sombre note that carried through the long evenings. Never did a visitor hear the cawing of a bird except for the ominous blackbird. It was an eminent reminder that this land was not destined for fairy tales. If you entered the realm of the damned it was most likely that you would remain an unhappy soul despite any amount of the enduring human mind. The only thing that out numbered the many laborious hours of the day were the frightening hours of the night. That loathed time when the weak sun would fade away and the clutches of darkness would surround its most unfortunate victims. The black of the night had coupled together with the blind ignorance of the people to create a ghastly, if not glittering, array of folktales most of which ended with the inclusion of a blood-sucking creature. It was no wonder that this particular part of the world was known as _unholy _despite its wealth.

The grounds of the small camp were lifeless. Many hours had passed since the last log had been placed on one of the two smaller fires surrounding the tents. The few that had been brought with the master had soon finished with their errands and gone to lay down their weary heads. Only the faint glow of the remaining embers cast shadows across the worn grass. The night sky was hidden from view by the numerous clouds that created a thick insulating layer. As a result the night was that much warmer than usual for the time of year.

The smaller adjuring tent was silent in the dark cast of light with only a candle glowing softly on the other side of the fine black gauze. Her paying visitor had long ago left happy with his expensive, but enlightening experience. There, of course, was no money left to the slave. A cold wind buffeted the sides of the tent and the heavy canvas flapped where it had come undone from the pegged ground sheet. The woman's face lay against this chilled ground sheet. Though a more temperate evening, the wind that wound its way through the encampment was still laden with the chill fresh off the surrounding mountains that strung themselves across the land. Her head was too clouded, her body was too sore, to even contemplate moving so there her body lay.

This is what Sarka awoke to all alone.

Her first movements were pained as she shifted onto her back from were she had been left to fall after the last racking fit. The other _help_ had been kept in the dark. They stayed well away from this slave because for all they knew she could have been communicating with the devil. Sarka didn't dare tell them it was simply the adverse affect of the smoke she breathed in since, like during the voyage here, her _difference_ earned the much needed respect.

The last of her movements to shift herself onto her back saw her collapse from the strain rather than carry out a series of simple moves. Sarka lay on the cold ground and watched the wind play with the gauze. All she could see was the black void. The linen that wrapped her was crumpled and her hair had come loose in a heavy tirade splaying out behind her. Laying there in the dark she gave a choked sob and for a moment a little of the misery escaped only to be pulled up sharply. She remembered nothing of the hour, or even hours, before. From the moment she inhaled the burning smoke her vision had descended to chaos. A mindless state of colours, memories and confusion that she hated entering with a certain venomous passion. It simply could not go on like this.

Sarka looked around drawing herself to her hands and knees whilst spitting to the side in an effort to rid her tongue of the foul after taste of the narcotic.

The poor light cast around the room was awful for the best pair of eyes and hers were certainly not the best now. A wave of panic assailed her senses as she looked in other directions, but could not escape the black void that assaulted her vision. To the left and to the right, ignoring the pain in her neck, it was all the same. She could not see the light of the candle as clearly was we would have. Everything was now a blur as her haunting green eyes stared listlessly out to the blurred space before her. Sarka sat with her long hair falling heedlessly over her shoulders and with her hands raised to her face she could barely define the outline of her hands. Her vision had further disintegrated and she was left with the knowledge that she could do nothing about it. Eventually she would be completely blind with each progressive act. With her head aching and her mouth dry she slowly stood up. Her entire body was aching and still shook with the cold after effects. Her hands clutched to anything that would guide her. Consumed by fear she made the rash decision to flee blindly into the night. Later she would consider that she was _blind _in more ways than one…


	13. The Vigil

"_**The beast is always untamed…reactionary**__** or an opportunist with nothing to lose, if you prefer"**_

**The Vigil**

The master knew what awaited him as surely as a green leaf knows the sun will rise everyday to bathe it in golden glory. However, the master very much doubted that the demon was about to bathe him in golden glory. It was far more likely that he was to be bathed in bloody glory if anything at all. Never the less, he waited patiently in the darkness of the clouded night. He knew he would come, there was no doubting that, the only question was what type of greeting he awaited from the demon-man. The master had always known that travelling to this region would be a gamble and the possibility of upsetting the apple cart was great, but the master had been drawn by the promise of gold coin. As he waited his thoughts turned from their usual hedonistic path and headed along memory lane. A lane covered in brambles and nettles a like.

It had been a very long time since that night. The master had not always been the _master _you see. Those that always end up great in some way always had the memory of the little people they had once been. Taking a moment from the present and divulging into the man's mind it was clear to see the night of that first meeting. Well, it was certainly the first night the demon had come to know of the master so we shall call it a meeting, but as for the master's experience…it was more like a nightmare. Never before could he recall a similar feeling of dark power so alluring, but extremely hazardous. It had been the master's first, and possibly last, trade gamble for making a lasting trade pact through the south of Europe and into the rich east. He had been alone and desperate to make the last passage on time. If he failed then his name would be ruined along with his chances. He would never have been anything at all and Sarka would have fallen into very different hands. The master had gambled greatly in taking the particular route that he did. It was shorter, but far more dangerous. None of the locals that lived on the very edges of the planned route would act as guides. The most he had to go on were old maps that were very unclear since the methods used to map them were long out of practice. On one particular night he had been making the final checks before turning in for the dark, but something had been off and rather too strange to simply shrug off. He had heard all the warning tales from the people, but he had taken them to be exactly that; tales. That night he had been brought up short by the all mighty howling of the winds through the trees. Most, if not all of his hired help had deserted him for the apparent safety of the darkened woods. An unnatural cold had filled the air as he stood there by himself. It had been the first sign...

Years later, standing in all his finery the master pulled himself up short of such memories. It wouldn't do any good thinking of them now. He had moved from the temporary camp and was waiting for his guest to arrive close to the boundary of the forested woods. His richly embroidered robe began to sway neatly around his ankles as a breeze made itself known. The moon had been covered by a thick layer of cloud, but now, as the master looked up towards the sky, he saw the clouds make way for the watery light of the moon.

The master's hand began to wring around themselves in a sure sign of deep seated agitation.

To the darkened wood a soft flutter was heard and then nothing. It was the slightest sound that was heard due to the unerie silence. The master didn't doubt that it was intentional. If nothing else, the demon liked to impress his often fearful audience and the demon was well-practiced too considering the years devoted to this endeavour. The man waited anxiously in the dark. The sounds of his small camp where non-existent and it appeared that all had been deserted although he knew it was not the case. It was the feeling of desolation that the demon wished to inspire into the very bones of his audience. As a famous Emperor once said about his subjects under harsh subjugation, "_Let them hate me, so long as they fear me"._

The atmosphere was allowed to intensify and then there was the voice that seemed to ring about the master's mind and ears. "So they now call a little scrounger, like you, a master?" The sound was deeply masculine and coloured by aristocratic, if not husky native tones. The master heard the sound, but he had no idea where it originated from. However, he noted the heavy sarcasm laced with ironic malice. The master looked around himself in an obvious gesture of confusion. "I thought a master would not be perturbed by my presence in the slightest", said the voice of the demon again, "No matter what form I chose to take".

The master had no reply, but an anxious look settled across his features. Still the demon wasn't in sight, but his tones were crystal clear. The very sound of the demons voice sent an internal quake through the man known as the _master. _After some time had been allowed to pass the voice came again to plague the master's mind, "So tell me of your schemes since we last parted, _master_?" The master said nothing, but displayed his fear by walking briskly away from where he stood. Past a low lying sapling and onto one of the many paths scattered in the area. Some were used by animals over countless years. Perhaps there was a similarity in the way animals used them to navigate away from predators and how the master was fleeing the demon. He didn't want to have to face the twisted psyche of this demon. Anywhere was better than there so he walked away, but in his state he chose the wrong path leading deeper into the forested wood. Not a terribly bright idea, but who could blame the confused machinations of his mind pursued by such a demon?

"Why are you walking away from me?" The voice still lingered in the air no matter how fast he walked. The master broke out into a run with brambles tearing away at his richly embroidered clothing. He was drawn up short by the appearance of a man dressed in black immediately before him. "Again I must ask you", said the figure walking closer, "Why are you _walking _away from me?" In the light of the moon the dark figure was thrown into relief. His dark colouring and pale complexion coupled with the malice displayed in his cerulean blue eyes was intimidating to say the least. He was a tall figure that towered over the master as his black Hessian boots brought him that much closer. "Tell me why?" The figure asked the question in a plain tone, but his eyes conveyed so much more to the poor human before him.

A tell-tale line of perspiration broke out across the master's forehead and it had nothing to do with the short little run he had just been on. His hands were brought forward in a respectful gesture to steeple before his own face as he bowed slightly and said, "I am always delighted that you would show a poor commoner, such as my own meagre self, such avid attention my lord".

The demon brought a leather clad hand up to his throat to adjust the ties of the long cloak that billowed majestically, if a little mysteriously, behind him and then tilted his head to one side looking at the human before him. Obsidian tendrils hung before his eyes as he did so. "You do realise your feigned obsequious nature does little other than irritate me?"

The master's eyes dropped to the black boots and his hands unfurled themselves, "My apologies my lord".

The demon ignored the apology as if it was beneath him. "A slave trader now?" It was not a clear question issued in uncertain tones that the master could not accurately define. The demon must have sensed this for he continued in a careless tone, "I can't say I admire your line of work, but who am I to question it?" The last of the demon's words were conveyed with a bout of wry laughter as if he understood the irony and deliberately employed it. The master wisely kept his mouth firmly shut with his lips glued together. Before him stood an unpredictable force of nature he had no idea how to interpret correctly. The master counted himself fortunate that his throat still remained intact, for now at least.

"Issuing predictions? Now where did that come from?" The demon finally decided to treat the matter in hand. It was the issue that piqued him, the issue he couldn't believe the man before him had been stupid enough to deliberately become involved in. Still, the demon smiled wryly as he took note of the man's poor attempts to dodge the pressing matter.

"Merely matters concerning livestock, births and marriages my lord. Nothing of consequence", stated the master trying to keep the notes of fear from his voice.

"So making future predictions over the Valerious family is of _little consequence_?" The anger was not in voice or in his bearing. If anything the demon appeared amused at such foolery.

The master, on the other hand, was extremely skittish as he said, "I-, I didn't mean, that is to say-". He faltered and became utterly speechless in front of the gracious figure.

"Take your time", replied the dark figure. "_I_ have eternity".

"There was no disrespect intended and it was not foreseen".

"I gave you safe passage once-"

"And I am still eternally grateful for that privilege", interjected the master at the risk of the demon's retort. "Eternally grateful my lord", he finished on a softer note with his own eyes back studying the complexity of the demon's boots.

"You should have foreseen the repercussions of making yourself known in this particular land, especially in such a manner, but it is clear that greed obviously has the better of your two ears", stated the demon in a cutting tone. "The question is what to do with you now?" The demon exhaled on a pointless breath and brought his arms to cross at his chest with a feigned look of deep thought.

The master dropped to his knees and begged, "Be gracious I implore you!"

"I was once before and look what it caused? Nothing good came of it. You have simply come round full circle"

"Think of my family-"

"You have no family", replied the demon swiftly and then continued as another thought occurred to him, "And don't think you peculiar tastes _don't_ disgust me"

"Then thank god my blood is beneath you"

"Watch your tongue little _master _as it might go missing and what an unfortunate event that would be"

There was a following silence that was eventually broken by the master as he stated, "What then becomes of me?"

"Your keen perception that I was about to arrive does impress me. Your sorry excuse for an apology irritated me. However, I suppose there is an ounce of humanity in me…_somewhere_"

The master remained silent on the subject as his life teetered on the brink.

"Give me your oracle", the demon stated.

"But my lord, it, she, Sar-"

His words fumbled, but the demon cut him short, "You will leave her here". The demon issued the statement as a command. His hands outstretched to indicate the woodland around him.

"But why?" The master was horrified at his potential loss in profits. He was going to loose a star attraction simply because this _animal_ wanted to hunt. The master kept thinking to himself that the businessman inside himself would be able to come up with a suitable compromise. It never crossed either male's mind when it came to considering the feelings of the female in question. "Why?" The master repeated the question in stricken tones.

"I don't appreciate explaining myself to the likes of you". There was a pause, "However, your audacity amuses me so I shall answer the answer the question. It is because I lack amusement and besides, it is as you said; _your blood is beneath me_ so I must have a suitable compromise. This is exactly where it leads us and knowing you, I doubt you'll be too upset at leading her to her death in exchange for your own miserable skin"

"If you want a woman there are others in my company far more suitable"

"I have no taste for whores"

Unperturbed by the demon's answer he continued, "But how do you know she is not a whore? There are woman of far more exquisite beauty than her-"

The demon stopped him short with a gloved hand raised indicating silence. The demon exhaled again on a heavy sigh, "You miss the entire point. I have _no_ need for a whore. _No_ need for a woman. Her blood will be spilt tonight because she is of the most value to you. In order to teach a lesson, I must punish the offender, but that occasionally calls for others to die in order for it to be very effective". The demon began to turn his back on the master and walk away. He called over his shoulder, "Think a little deeper on our next meeting little _master_ for the price will go up and up". The master said nothing with his gaze still on the ground. He was made to look up as the demon said, "Oh, and don't keep me waiting or your journey will be more than you bargained for". With those final words the demon vanished from sight. Whether he turned into another form or vanished like mist the master was unsure. He was still unhappy about the deal the demon had dictated, but he could never go back upon it. Later, when he returned to camp, he would find that movements had already been set in motion as if fate had extended her deciding hand. Sarka had gone taking nothing of material value with her into the dark of the night. The master would spare only a slight thought for the slave he had lost. He did not doubt that he lost the slave to the demon that night and simply thought of all the gold coin he lost with her.


	14. Eyes like Nightshade

"_**Belladonna otherwise known as the poisonous Nightshade plant native to Europe with spectacular leaves the colour of emeralds in summer sunlight**__**"**_

**Eyes like Nightshade**

He had left the apt _little master_ far behind him. The hour was nearing when the sun would rise, though it may have no effect on the demon, it was irritating and the silent safety of darkness was preferable after so many years spent in its embrace. The clouds were back to hovering over the moon and so the landscape was blanketed in gloom, an entirely suitable atmosphere for what the demon _planned_ to happen. His own conspiring thoughts lead him to think that nothing of consequence would occur. The girl would die and the _little master _would be sorry for his arrogant slip. It was all meant to be as simple as that. Primeval, but simplicity in itself.

The elms and pines bent in contorted angles over one another with their grey barks nothing more than black outlines in the nightscape. The demon looked the perfect gentlemen as he reached one hand up to loosen the ties of the black cape at his throat. In fact, to an onlooker it might appear that he could have been removed from that uninhabited site and placed in any distinguished tea room. With his air of grace and debonair charm no one could suspect the devils that lurked beneath the tempting façade. He removed the heavy item with one hand and carelessly tossed it in the general direction behind himself. Again, to an onlooker, it might have appeared to be magic as then and there the item dissolved into a thin mist and dissipated. He gave nothing away to indicate that the event was anything out of the ordinary, but merely had a barely suppressed look of boredom flit across his fine masculine features. Nothing, nothing at all seemed to pose a challenge anymore. Even the Valerious woman had paled as a past time. Why? Well, he was winning, what more was there left to do? Her mind was breaking already. Sooner or later the Valerious woman would come to him and her ancestors would experience their final damnation. _What a better way to celebrate than to have a Valerious woman to warm my cold spirit_, he thought to himself with an ironic light in his eyes. As he thought his hands rested crossed at his broad chest, outlined suitably in black, and he paced a large section of the forest without making a noise. He was _deathly _silent as he waited to sense his quarry.

The demon was well aware that the supposed oracle had fled from the captivity of her master. He knew and was suitably impressed that the mortal seemed to fear nothing as she fled deeper and deeper into unknown territory with nothing to aid her. _She fears nothing, or is a little more inept than the average slave_, he thought with acid. His lips compressed to a thin line as his mind wandered. The demon was contemplating whether a little sport was worth all this trouble, he was tired and longed to be back at his home, when he caught a scent. It was of rich earth that had been turned in haste, sweat and, of course the most tantalizing of all, fresh blood. He stopped his pacing and turned in the direction of the scent. After a few moments his excellent vision caught flashes of movement between the lower branches of the elms and pines. He stood there watching as the flashes became a moving figure that was running, unwittingly, in his direction. The demon watched with a hint of curiosity as he noted the figure seemed to run unsure of the surroundings. He did not expect an intimate knowledge of the area, that would be unreasonable, but he didn't expect the figure to go straight through bramble vines and such. It was an oddity to the demon, but it explained the scent stained with fresh blood. Without so much as a second thought the demon took a step back and the clouds, that smothered the light thrown by the moon, were moved. All at once an unnatural watery light flooded the forested floor, but it made no difference to the moving figure. As the figure came closer he took an oddly leisurely notice of the figure. It was a woman with long hair that ran out behind her as she moved. Every now and then a bramble stem full of unforgiving thorns would catch sharply and rip at her already torn linen. She made no effort to swerve and avoid what must have been a stinging pain. He watched for an instant as the watery lights fell across her revealed skin and then took a step forward to intercept the moving figure.

There was the sound of crunching leaves underfoot as she fell hard across the leaf-strewn floor. His arm had been outstretched enough just to halt her progress forward with a heavy thud. The demon watched dispassionately as he towered over the woman on the floor, he saw she was winded as she crawled on her hands and feet. From what he could see her breathing was laboured and her fingers dug deep into the moist ground in an effort to get a better grip. He was surprised not to hear her cry out at the impact, but she simply kept moving in an almost desperate attempt to simply get away. It was as if she might of just hit a low lying branch instead of the demon. She turned her head back only once, he thought she looked directly at him, but he received no reaction. Perhaps, he thought, that the shadows obscured her vision, like her face, alluded his gaze. It irked him that she was not crying out in fear as he descended on her.

He grasped the back of her head by her long hair, twisted her body round and made her look at him. With her face forced upwards her features were revealed in the murky light and despite her sharp vicious tugs, her assailant held strong.

"Be still", he snarled in distinctive Romanian as she struggled and nearly bit off a finger. He couldn't see her face as she tousled and twisted in his seemingly vice grip, but he went to hold her better when she took the opportunity and lit off. However, it did not take much effort for the demon to catch up with his quarry with a distinctly shattering blow to the back of her head. The figure of the woman immediately fell forward stunned with another dull thud. The tall figure came to tower over her unmoving body and regarded the torn and bloody shreds. No one ever ran from him twice and it further puzzled him why the woman ran so, well, _haphazardly_? With large hands bound in leather he dragged her body to its feet with little effort, she stood unsteadily relying on his bulk, emitted a low groan, but was still unconscious. With a flick of his wrist he sent her long hair cascading down her back and over the strong arm that held her. In the moonlight that filtered through the branches of the trees he was struck by the colour of her hair. The woman's hair was thick, straight, heavy and dark like obsidian. It mirrored his own and only varied by length. It was a startling realisation that he found himself tempted to remove his glove and have his own long fingers plunge into the abundant mass. He shook the thought aside and pushed it to the far recess of his mind as she twisted her head to one side on an inaudible mutter. The action caused him to note another similarity between them both; the complexion of her skin. It wasn't the fashionable _peaches and cream_, but something that was more disturbing and unusual when coupled with her dark hair. Beneath the scratches, dirt and grime he could clearly imagine the unblemished alabaster so pale like his own. In the poor light he could just make out the marks left by the henna that trailed her skin. For a moment he contemplated that he had found another, but the clear beating rhythm of her heart resounding in his ears brought him back to reality. He could feel her begin to regain consciousness and tightened his hold. The scent from the clean graze across her cheek sent him in for a closer inspection and soon his tongue tasted the metallic flavour as he gently caressed the mark. It was a delicate move that was at odds with his earlier tone. He felt the shock vibrate all along her body as she took in her predicament. "Be still", he murmured in that same language with an undertone that lent a persuasive skill. However, she jerked in his embrace and he was forced to draw away from the sweet taste of a mortal's blood, but he was finally allowed a look at her conscious expression.

It was a sight that held the demon immobile in thought and action, the man was similarly halted in actions, but never words, "What lovely eyes you have my dear". Her expression showed the confusion; she did not understand a word that was uttered to her. He vaguely recognised this fact as he noted the arresting green of her eyes, but failed to note the listless gaze. Where his were an enticing sea of blue, hers were a haunting shade of emerald. "The colour of dappled sunlight through oak leaves in the summer", he breathed closer to her. He held her light female form against his own more robust frame and bent closer to her neck. The demon was presently surprised to come across such a fine piece.

The closer he came, the stiffer and straighter her spine became. He could feel it, but expected no reaction as his mind games would surely over come her. His cold breath fanned her neck, his lips found their mark on the lily-white of her neck and then, then she bucked in a most unlady-like fashion freeing a single hand to push in his direction. As her sharp nails grated across his smooth skin he cursed in old Latin. With three dark scratches across his cheek he heard her reply in the same old Latin. He stared openly at the woman before him. She had looked foreign, that had made her all the more appealing, but he had certainly expected her to speak Romanian this far north. The single word _"pax" _reverberated around his head. A word from a language he hadn't heard spoken in many years. The demon held the top of her arms in his hands with a steel grip as he would not risk himself further; women were complicated beings. He finally took note of how she never actually looked in his direction, but merely looked towards the sounds of movement. His sharp eyes took greater note and it was all suddenly explained; she was practically blind.

"You are a man?" She spoke clearly in old Latin with her slight tinting of the words and he took a while to formulate her meaning as it had been some time since he had spoken such a dialect in these parts. A wry grin passed over his handsome features as he still held the woman in a strong grip. He had never ever had to answer such a question in his living or dead years; looks had never been debated for one such as him. It seemed that it would take a practically blind woman to make him give a humbling answer. "I am", he replied. Why he was replying and simply hadn't just ripped out her larynx was a point he wasn't prepared to debate with himself?

"Oh", she replied in the direction of his voice. "Are you from the master?" Her words were hesitant as if the mounting tension depended on his next words.

Although she couldn't see the act, he raised an eyebrow never the less at her succinct method of getting straight to the point. He was amused that she was apparently ignoring his earlier advances that must have rung strange in her mind, that, and his strong hold on her. _Then again, _he thought to himself, _perhaps as a slave she is used to such things_. The thought struck a note within him that he didn't like it in the least. He reached out to her thoughts and all he received was a sense of mild confusion and then he realised that he had failed to give an answer, but was simply regarding her. "Not exactly", he said slowly. She began to tense even more at his tones and though frail, from what he presumed was lack of sufficient food, he was sure she was about to struggle again.

"What do you mean _not exactly_?"

"Simply that your _master_ and I came to an agreement concerning a little business transaction", he said and deliberately emphasised the appealing tones of his voice as he next said, "You are mine now".

"No", her breathed answered sent her eyes darting around in panic and the green was intensified. The demon watched in a strange kinship manner as the eyes of the creature before him glowed in their own mortal way. _How enchanting she would be cursed with my own affliction._

"Calm yourself my dear, you barely know your new master and your beginning to insult me-"

"No man is my master", she glowered in his general direction. "Beat and blind me into submission, but my life was never as a slave!"

He could hear her heart rate increase drastically at her passionate statement and for an instant he wanted to know what she had seen. Instead he replied simply with his present thoughts in mind, "The fact you are not dead lends weight to the theory I am very lenient".

"Then please allow a little blood to my hands", she said evenly without a trace of beguiling sarcasm.

"My dearest _Belladonna,_ I can accomplish so much more", he said softly and released his hold with a watchful eye over her actions. His cold hands drifted to frame her face and brought her unfocused gaze to his. "Do you know why I called you Belladonna?"

She remained silent and not even a blush would she allow. The demon allowed a smile across his features as he thought of other women when compliments were bestowed upon them by him in particular. Her reaction was not the same; it was out of the ordinary and therefore a challenge of sorts. When he saw he would have no reply he continued, "I have an odd feeling that you are as treacherous as the poison from the leaf of a Nightshade plant for I am in no doubt that your eyes, certainly, are as green".

"You said you can do better-"

"And indeed I can", he cut her short. "My dear, how would feel about regaining your sight little by little?"

"I would say the price must be far too high"

"You are so suspicious of people that you forget to ask how it could be done."

"I'll worry about machinations later", she replied and then passed on a piece of advice, "Deal first with the snake directly in your path, then worry about its brother further along"

"_Biting_, but wise sentiments-"

"How clever of you to make a play of words, do people usually laugh out of pity or fear?"

"The latter", he said.

"Fair enough, forgive me. I can't see the truth even when it's staring me in the face", she said dryly.

"I offer you your sight"

"Bit by bit and how do I know you won't take it away again?"

"You are hardly in a position to bargain-"

"Just give me my sight", she broke in to plead and blindly ran her hands along the lapels of his jacket to eventually hold him there. Her mask fell and the desperation showed through. The demon experienced an odd sensation as a single solitary tear ran down her cheek. "Please", she implored the stranger.

He did not expect the reaction. "Promise to stay in my keep", he replied. The demon had no idea why he made such a request, but he did and she readily agreed. "Be in my company whenever and wherever I chose", he continued bringing his face closer to hers and almost touching their cheeks with one another. To this she also agreed in favour of her sight.

"Belladonna, there is just one final task I ask of you and that is it", he said smoothly and traced the curve of her exposed neck with the back of his hands. She remained silent and passive under the tempting spell of promise; he promised the restoration of her sight. "I ask you to let me _take_ for each piece of the puzzle I solve for you", he finished with carefully ambiguous phrasing and heard her agree. With the back of her head held in one of his hands, and the other tilting her face up and away, he muttered, "Then let our strange deal commence", and plunged his fangs into her pulsing jugular vein. The taste of metal flooded his mouth and he felt her body push closer against him. He felt her instant resistance, but it did not fade as with the others. Through the thin cotton, of the linen she wore, he clearly felt the tempting pressure of her breasts against his chest. It was a pleasurable contradiction as her nails applied a sharp pressure to the skin at his neck as she clawed at him. Her motions began to slow till she was resting on his shoulders with her head completely dependent on the support of his hand. With her eyes closing he ran his tongue gently across the tell-tale scar he had just created. He could have left her there and then, but he didn't.

The delicious feeling he experienced in that moment, and the ones to follow as he carried her unconscious mortal's body to her new home, was something that confused the demon and any of these thoughts were pushed to that dark corner in the recesses of his mind. He left her on a bed and closed the door silently behind himself. It was another rare act of his generosity to contemplate.

The last image he had was of a pale sleeping woman with her midnight hair a riotous tumble around her; the first slave he owned with a peculiar deal to match. With the taste and moisture still lingering on his lips he wanted more from the mere mortal.


	15. Blood & Amber

**Blood & Amber**

"_**That strange dream I had. The one of hobgoblins and demons that gave me fright. It was real, but then you saved me with a gentle nudge"**_

The morning dawned blessedly fine and lacked the usual early chill that accompanied the days of the spring. In the valley there was little protection from the gusty winds that blew down from the iced covered mountains. There, the ice never melted, but formed an eternal ring that encased the fertile valley. The green of the tall pine trees contrasted sharply with the blue of the sky and this green was continued in varying forms through grass or shrubbery all the way down to the flowerbed beneath the window. The flowerbed was filled with many evergreens that encompassed herbs such as rosemary and thyme. The strong fragrant smells drifted up through the open window into the silent room.

The cream walls reflected the light at different angles across the room and the large sketch on the west wall was the only prominent feature to dominate the otherwise sparse room. The sketch had travelled far to come all the way from the distant shores of the Tangiers. It was a masterpiece full of confidence and pent up talent, but the master of the house had his glare firmly fixed outside. His gaze travelled through the open window to the mountains beyond. _How can they manage to live like this?_ His distaste for the morning was apparent and there must certainly have been a yearning for a past life spent in the cold isolation of perpetual winter. _The sweet melody of morning calls from birds one can't even see and the graceful ascent of sunshine illuminating everything damned thing in sight. _His gaze darkened as he repented the urge that had brought him back to dwell in the light of day. It was a miserable scheme of things that humans decided to live out. _To think that some actually take joy in waking at this unholy hour and starting the draining (what was the word they've started to use? Ah yes, slog…) slog beneath that glaring ball of fire_. He let out an exasperated sigh of icy breath as his unpleasant thoughts regarding daylight continued to trip over themselves.

This long and quite useless rant was broken into by the light cough of his young manservant. The young man, or _boy_ as his master was keen to refer to him as, had obviously taken the master's advice to heart as he stood there intent on not showing an ounce of fear. The young man had come to know, unfortunately through hook, that the morning was not the best time to place problems before his lord and master. Normally he would have waited long into the evening before daring to approach the master, but the young man had no idea how to deal with or attend to the rather vivacious woman who had appeared overnight. He had simply been carrying out his daily checks of rooms when he stumbled across the unconscious female in a locked bedchamber. The young man had learned never to ask questions and had proceeded to have breakfast served to her, however, he had made little preparations for her violent turn when she awoke…

"You are standing in my presence very early in the morning so I presume it must be life threatening boy", said the older man. He had made no move to look at the young man, but continued to regard the peaceful scene beyond the large window.

"Yes master-", he began to promptly reply.

"Well?" The man turned from the window to the young man. "Out with it", he commanded.

"I was completing my daily checks, as usual, and there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinairy as I checked each of the rooms in turn-"

The young man's introduction was broken into by the callous tones of his master, "I don't need a full history of all that you have done since you awoke this morning _boy_". He walked closer and nearly towered over the younger man as he continued, "Tell me the problem in fine, undiluted, succinct words". He emphasised his sarcastic words with his hands.

The young man, unable to understand all the words his master used, did his best to lay the problem out simply, "There is a woman in one of the rooms. I have no idea where she has come from. I found her locked in there".

At the young man's simple words a memory hit him. A memory of pale flesh and the darkest eyes he had ever seen. He had completely forgotten the antics of the previous night and if it were not for the _help_, why she would have probably been left in that same locked room to die of starvation. That is how little he cared for the rest of the world; even the part of it that provided him with entertainment. He turned to the window for a brief instant and continued to listen to the young man.

"She would not wake at first and so I left her to return with breakfast and another woman, but when I returned…"

"When you returned?"

"When I returned she was, was-"

"Was what? Gone? Dead? Speak up Gustav because it is too early for me to be reading minds or guessing"

"Mad", he put his hands out to the side and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "She went mad on my return"

"_Mad?_" The man lifted a dark eyebrow. "If anything I think you have taken leave of your senses".

"I tried to speak to her, to reason with her, but the woman was consumed and hurled things at me"

The older man resisted a smile as he asked, "And what else have you diagnosed the woman with apart from _madness_ Gustav?"

The younger man sensed the amusement that lingered behind his master's calm façade, did not like it, and dared to mention, "All other women I bring breakfast too, they are civilized and never throw anything at me. Some of them even say _thank you _and all of them are, are-"

When the manservant appeared to be struggling to find the right word he was prompted by his very amused master, "Are what? Laced in satisfaction? High-born?"

"Non, non", replied the younger man and he used his hands to give a better description. "All of them are _there_", he pointed to his head. "That woman is…_not there_", he finished.

"And you say this because?"

"She can't speak, but is only angry and makes noises", the manservant explained.

"Noises Gustav?"

"Like an odd noise, many little ones put together-"

"Do give me an example of these _noises_", asked the master as he turned to watch the crows on the green lawn. The older man had an idea of what had transpired already, but he would still put his manservant through the movements for his own personal amusement.

The manservant felt as though he was being put on the rack. He kept trying to stay calm as he needed to fore fill the order he had been given, however, he had no idea where to begin when it came to copying the distinctly guttural tones of the woman. He started as best as he knew how and mercifully his master's penetrating gaze was not on him. "_impetrare foras_", said the young man and he repeated it again when his master made no effort to turn around. "She kept repeating it over and over at me and that is how I remember it most", he added.

"What did you do?"

"I moved to put the tray I was carrying down and I went towards her to try and calm her, but-"

"She's not _simple_ boy", he said and turned with a smile on his face. "You are simply uneducated, but do not be too dejected for she was telling you to _get out_ in Latin"

"Get out? Latin?" It was obvious he had no clue and it wasn't in his master's nature to enlighten him.

"Calm yourself. You don't need to worry about her. Do what you have to do", the master turned with his arms folded across his chest. It was obvious that the young man had been dismissed and he left subserviently without even one answer to his many pressing questions. As soon as the manservant had left, the dark-haired man began the walk to the room harbouring the Latin-speaking woman. She had slipped from his mind the moment the bedroom door had been closed on her. It was only at the manservant's words had her eyes clouded his vision once more. Walking down one corridor lead to another corridor and the usual clipping sound of his boots on the floor were silence by a plush carpet that seemed to go on forever. Past one window and then another. He found himself thinking of why she was still alive and what had prompted the odd bargain. In all his time he had never bargained with a human for their benefit. He had plans; always there were plans. Alas, he failed to understand his own reasoning in placing her in a room in his own new home. She was nothing and was meant to have died, but it seemed she was living on borrowed time. He stopped at an oak panelled door, turned the key in the lock and opened the door which swung in a wide ark. He took a step inside and allowed the door to click shut behind him.

His eyes and senses quickly and automatically scouted the large room. His senses were immediately saturated in the smell of her blood. His eyes caught sight of the red splattering across the white linen and the bedpost that had been left with a hand print. Whatever had conspired earlier must have indeed helped Gustav in deciding his presence was required. However, he also had no doubt that the manservant had not told him the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

"_domina?"_ He called softly out to the apparently empty room. The bed was crumpled, but it held no one. The dresser and mirror with a seat was untouched as were the essential feminine items. The chaise lounge was also deserted as it stood proudly in royal blue before the white curtains. A tray laden with a cold breakfast lay on the floor. The shattered remains of a teapot and a glass jug lay around it. He walked in further and spoke again, "_placere domina species ipse". _He had called out for her to show herself, but despite his efforts in lowering his voice she did not enter his sight of her own free will. Treading lightly and carefully he went further into the room to walk past a tall dresser and there she was. Her thin frame was pressed into the space between the closed window and the tall oak dresser. She huddled down in the tight space with her long black hair cloaking her. Her hands were raised above her head and in one of them she held a shard of glass. Despite her pale complexion he could see she held the item tightly within her white knuckles. Soo tightly in fact that blood oozed from between her fingers and snaked down her arm to collect on the torn remnants of the linen she wore. Demon though he was, there was little in him at all that appreciated the sight of marred beauty. Even seeing her in the dark had not belittled or taken away from the odd sense of joy that had accompanied his discovery of her looks that soo neatly reflected his own. As if one of his fine and priceless vases had been carelessly dropped, he became angry that she too looked, well, _shattered_. The anger caused him to speak more harshly than he had intended, "Domina". She visibly quaked at the angry tone and clutched the sharp shard in her hand all the tighter. At her reaction he cursed silently and drew a deep and very silent breath. He spoke in Latin to her, "Domina, Come, come with me". He came closer, ignoring the danger she posed with her make-shift dagger, and came to rest on his haunches, "Please, come here where I can see you better". He lowered his voice further to a pitch he previously used to calm a wild horse. The sound was intended to soothe her, obviously, raw nerves.

From her position she never raised her head, but replied stoically, "And so your friend can see me better too I think?" He was arrested for a moment as she spoke fast and needed the time to translate. Despite his hesitation in replying, the comment concerning his _friend_ was far from lost on him. "_He_ is not my friend domina and I am rather offended you would think so", he paused briefly as he saw she almost, but not quite, glanced in his direction. "Come out of there and I will have him flayed if you so much as feel the fluttering urge-"

"It is you", she said with derision on her realisation. The green eyes stared blindly at him as soon as her dark head was raised and the shard she held was thrust out in his general direction. "You are the one that brought me here! You-"

"I'm glad you had not forgotten about me", he interrupted her and was delighted at the murderous rage that danced across her pale features illuminating them all at once. Despite the dirt and the blood smeared across her forehead; his precious _vase_ was still intact. It pleased him.

"I want to leave-"

"Don't let a young pup destroy your enthusiasm for my company domina", he easily countered her. "And don't forget my magnanimous bargain you fell into last night".

"The one that included the return of my sight? That one?"

"Yes", he replied calmly aware of her sarcasm and where she was going to strike at him next.

"Thank you for reminding me, reminding me I still can't see a damn thing!" She practically spat the words at him and he couldn't help but draw a parallel between her and her female contemporaries. Where they would have carefully groomed their looks, practically killed for her natural air of classicism, here she was not even enjoying the god-given right.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am. You can see I'm still here", he replied.

"You failed so don't plaster it in lies-"

"I did not fail"

"Yes, you did", she said whilst still aiming the shard in his direction.

"If I had, you would never have been able to upset my _friend's_ tray and manufacture that pretty shard you hold. Your sight is like smoked glass at present, but you are not blind as you were last night and did not I promise three _instalments_?"

She kept her silence in that rigid pose and would not answer him. He, of course, knew he was right and did not need her confirmation to further fuel his ego. "Now we have that trifle sorted will you please come out of there?"

"Am I still entitled to skin your friend-"

"Manservant domina, not friend", he quickly corrected her.

"Am I still entitled to skin him with a buttering knife?"

He noticed she left the shard of glass go lax in her bloodied hand, but never let it go as she conversed with him quite freely now. "With a spoon if it pleases you", he replied with a handsome smile across his face as he contemplated Gustav's reaction to the news. "Now, will you please release that damaging item and come with me", he asked her whilst still maintaining arrogant notes in his voice. She hesitated momentarily, but eventually dropped the shard. Her hands reached out to the sill of the window and accepted no help from him. As she reached for the sill with her bloodied hands he watched her from he still remained. His judging eyes followed her long hair and thin frame with no doubt that with time and care she would be truly beautiful. He seemed to be assessing her as a project rather than a human, but he would soon find that she was far from easily manipulated. It was as she tried to steady herself that he saw her loose her balance and it was exactly the excuse he had been looking for in getting closer. The instant he held her arms within his hands he was assailed by the smell of pine and, oddly, cedar wood. She smelt like the forest did when a full moon would drench it in sultry light. The faint odour of fresh blood rising from her hands served only to add enticement to the enchantment. His demonic nature was so lost that he was slow to notice her instant attempt at withdrawal from his touch. He forcefully pulled her closer and said quietly, "Are you afraid, domina?" She stared straight ahead not bothering to strain against his hold. "Did I hurt you last night? Was I very careless?" With little effort he tilted her head back to look him in the eye. Her gaze was listless, her lips parted with her accelerated breathing and his hand encased her throat. "Answer me _forma_", he said and his eyes grew dark. The demon within him could have snapped her neck in half as the smell of blood began to consume him, but her reply startled him to _normal _behaviour.

"You think superior strength makes you stronger when it is nothing, nothing, but a handicap", she said simply in gasping breaths as his hold tightened. There was not a quaver in her voice and though all she saw were blurs of colours, her eyes focused on him and the deep green held an unnerving quality. "And no", she continued when silence met her ears and her bloodied hands rose to partly encircle his own. "But the smell of garlic is more likely to kill me first than _you_".

The demon within him was overtaken by humour and it caused the immediate slacking of his grip. He kept his face serious as he said, "Don't be smart it isn't becoming of a young woman-"

Outrage at his words gave her power as her bruised hands yanked his own away with considerable force. He allowed the action and listened to her words, "I am no _young_ woman so don't talk to me like one!"

To his curiosity he saw regret flit across her features the moment the words left her tongue and would never have guessed her actions as she immediately cowed against the window frame. First it struck him as exceptionally odd and the words of Gustav came back to him, but then he made the realisation with a feeling tantamount to disgust. She was visibly waiting for him to strike her, strike her hard, for the comment she had accidentally let slip as her anger overpowered her normal slave-like decorum. He had told her last night that she had been given to him and that meant he was her new master. Like the old master she fully expected the normal beating accompanying such defiance. On a sigh, and an effort to avoid her reaction of disbelief, he turned away from her. "Compared to my years you are very young, but obviously far from naive", he replied with little emotion. He walked to the centre of the room, with his back still toward her, and noticed the crunch of glass beneath his black boots. Looking down at the various sharp pieces he said to her, "It is morning and time you allowed the servants to carry out their duties". He looked to the door as he further said, "The young man will not be coming back, but two women _shall_ attend to you. None of them speak a Latinate language, but maybe you should like to learn a little from them". The man walked to the oak door, opened it, remembered and called back over his shoulder, "I don't want anymore of this _Viridis…_" He allowed the sentence to trail away and then he heard her practiced response, "Yes master. It shall be as you say". As he closed the door behind him the thought of correcting her was apparent, but what could he say to a slave? He presumed she was born that way. There was nothing to say when he couldn't understand her presence in his home anymore than he could explain it. She would have to find the boundaries of their _relationship_ on her own. She was fast on her way already as this morning she discovered he would never harm her for such a minor misdemeanour. He walked no further than the length of one corridor and he found Gustav than abruptly dispatched him with orders. As he continued down to the dining room his mind immediately moved on to other things and the woman he had called _"Viridis"_, because of the green of her eyes, was once more forgotten.

For the reader it would be odd to discover how much care he would bestow upon one solitary female because of the picture she reflected and how much hate he would dedicate to another because of her name.


	16. Sanguis et Sucinum

**Sanguis et Sucinum**

"_**The night enclosed me within her folds and I knew then that I had never seen anything as beautiful or magnificent in such cold, isolated, silence"**_

She could see the lights before her as they gently played upon the figures of the matrons, but what price he was to extract she had yet to learn. He had not lied. That much was the truth. He had not even beaten her for lapse in tongue. That much was a shock. She realised now that the life she had, somehow, left behind under the master was not the only one she had ever lived. It had been a completely hidden character that had taken over because before she would never have dared. Dared, to speak her mind that is. Though her skin healed from the punishments enforced upon her; the aim of the lesson remained. To her great chagrin she had to admire her old master. None of his punishments had left a mark, but it had never been for her benefit. Only for the benefit of his business. What good would she have been as a performer if she had been marred for life? Her ethereal quality that the old master had aimed to cultivate had been very important to business.

It would be a very long time before she forgot the stinging kiss of a nettle brush. She remembered it well. She had said something, what exactly she couldn't recall, but that night she had been hauled into the cold night air, stripped and lashed across the back with nettle reeds. The sinewy plant had bestowed its toxins across her skin in a cruel caress and the stinging sensation lasted for three days and nights. Nothing could ease the pain. She remembered that harsh lesson now as the two older women wrapped her liberally in soft cotton to dry her. The experience then and the experience now were very sharp contradictions. As much as she understood nothing of what was happening there was an immense amount of relief flooding her tired system.

The woman who entered in and out of her blurred vision said little to her. There were the basic requests to stand or flex, but hand actions dealt swiftly with that inconvenience. It was not that she had not attempted conversation because if anything she was desperate to know more, but they failed her on that point apparently not hearing anything she said. When they attempted to touch her hands she resisted strongly. It was one thing to have them bath her, but another to start on her bloodied hands. They tried once more and then mercifully let the issue lie. For the woman, she believed she had already conceded enough by having a dratted bath. All she did was wrap the most damaged hand in a damp square of linen. The grotesque wound across her hand stung and brought tears to her eyes with the action. She did not know it, but the two older women exchanged meaningful glances at the sight.

When they opened the wardrobe and discussed between themselves what the woman must wear she became agitated. The object of discussion sat just so she was close enough to hear the swish of fabrics, smell the perfume and catch blurred sight of many colours. The smells and sounds caught her in a memory of long ago when she had seen all these types of items in a shop with women crowding to buy them. They were foreign items she had never seen, let alone worn before. She remembered distinctly the European traders that brought with them numerous corsets. A particular fashion established by Europe that had never successfully found its way into the hot climate of the Tangiers.

She was very nervous by the time they had finished their pondering and came back to were she sat amidst the folds of cotton. One of the women dried her hair in soothing rubbing motions whilst the other laid a dress beside her. Once finished the first of the two women began to braid her long hair and twisted it to be pinned neatly back. It was done tightly, more so than the woman had ever been inclined to try and the sensation was not altogether pleasant for she had always worn her hair in a loose braid down her back. Now the heavy weight had been removed from her shoulders she felt rather vulnerable. When her task was complete the other stripped her of the towel to place a dress over her head. The woman could hear the _tuts_ and murmurs of disapproval as their eyes caught sight of the bruise across her left side. It was a deep mauve and tender, but looking at the woman you would not have known it existed. She waited patiently for them to give in and place the dress over her head with a care. She would have like to ease their suspicion and explain it was from a fall the previous night, but she lacked the adequette tools of their language. Eventually, after a few hushed words, the dress was lowered over her arms. Her one good hand worked to keep the strapless item from falling below her breasts and she thought the item was far too large until the woman started on the back. One by one the clever contraption of hooks and eyes were brought together. By the time the lace ties were being carefully put in small ribboned bows the woman with dark hair thought her ribs must have snapped in the process. The ache on her left side became worse. Without any idea of what she looked like, she felt kid slippers being coaxed onto her feet, there was hurried chatter, and no later she was propelled out of the room with a matron's hand at her back. The two older women chatted to each other as they lead her away and before one departed from the other she caught a single word. The word was _bella._

With unsteady feet she walked through the maze of corridors blindly with the matron as her guide. The hands of the woman that encased her own were warm. She could feel cool air on her bare shoulders and she wondered if she would ever adjust to the cooler climate. _If I will live that long_, she found herself thinking wryly. She would have had to have been stupid not to have sensed the waves of pent up violence that came from her _new master_ occasionally. There was certain strangeness to his presence that she could not quite discern. A light or an aura if you will that was indefinable. Even more curious was the man himself, despite the fact she had not even been able to glance at his features properly. With the day's improvement of her sight, she thought she could do better. Furthermore, his hands and breath were like ice upon her skin on the few occasions he had touched her and she could not understand how someone could be so very, very cold and still breathe.

The woman dragged her thoughts back and regarded her mode of dress. She struggled every three steps and would lose vital balance, but relied on her natural agility to never actually come to such _close _terms with the floor. The dress ached against her side and she could feel the material pressing around her breasts. From the blurred images she thought it was an ardent mix between yellow and orange. A deep burnt amber that clung to her torso whilst flaring of its own accord at her waist downwards. She thought it was strange to desire an item of clothing to be soo tight at one end and so very loose at the other whilst still remaining one item. She was more used to feminine clothes that consisted of two items and as soon as she got the chance she would make the changes. The long item flared and it brushed the carpeted floor obscuring her feet from view as she walked; this, she pleasantly liked. The feeling was soft against her calves and twirled gently around her. It may not have been perfect vision, but it was better than being blind. She was dwelling on her slippers when she was forced to a stop and heard a door opening. It opened with a little creak from the hinges. After being given a nudge by her matron she stepped over what she presumed was the threshold to the room.

As soon as she had taken a step into the room, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew that there was something or someone else in the room. It was not quite the odd sense of remembering the present, but something very like it. An enormous awareness brought on by immediate danger or heightened anticipation. It was darker in here than in the corridor she had walked down or in her own room that she had been assigned. Despite the odd tension brewing in the air as she stood as still as a statue she found herself repeating that phrase in her head: _her own room_. Wasn't that something that pleased the Magpie? The most she had ever owned was a bruise, but here she stood certain she had a room of her own. Why she had one was something to contemplate, or more precisely panic about, later.

She took another step forward since she couldn't stand there the whole day and the door she walked through was closed suddenly. The heavy thud made her turn sharply thus making the skirt flare above her ankles. It had briefly brought the mounting tension to a climax, but it soon dissolved into nothing. When she realised that staring blankly at a closed door would do her no good she turned slowly and tried to focus on a source of light. There were dark shapes highlighted in the room. The source of only light appeared to be coming, from what she viewed as, the far end of the room. At a guess it must have been a fireplace surrounded by chairs. The woman paid no attention to the walls of the room. She presumed that nothing was placed right in front of the doorway so she allowed her feet to carry her forward. It must have been a rich carpet beneath her feet because it was soft and her silent tread was unheard in her own ears. As she came closer to the dark shapes she outstretched a hand hesitantly and released a relieved sight when her hand came into contact with cold leather. They were, after all, the plush chairs she had imagined.

All her actions came to an abrupt halt at the sound of his voice.

"Good morning".

The tone he used made her simply stand with her fingers starting to impale the leather chair. It was a dark sound and so she said nothing, but looked down in the direction of the chair.

"Will you not greet me?"

For the first time she noted the sounds of his voice. They were smooth, but far gentler in the way of pronunciation than the two older matrons had been. It was gold, but not hard or cheaply bronzed. More of a molten fire to pour down a woman ear and set her a light. She smiled to herself as the next words came into her mind, _For better or for worse, just like he promised._ She stopped thinking all these thoughts when she noticed he had gone silent. He had not said a word since her mind went on its wonderings. It was as if he had been quiet simply for her thoughts to take centre stage.

"_Don't _stop", the voice began again. She was caught for a moment wondering if he meant thinking of him or her actual position in the room. What ever the reason she immediately obeyed like a serf. "Turn to your right and come closer to me". He did not utter another word until she practically crashed into him, but fortunately she recognised the distinctive blur of this man. His outline was dark. It was always dark. She sensed it would never change. There was always a darkness contrasting with, what she thought, was his pale complexion. He said nothing when she stopped three feet away. It was only when it became clear that she had halted permanently according to his instructions that he reiterated gently, "Closer to me". She released a sigh and knew that he saw it. The woman took another hesitant step forward and gingerly placed her wrapped hand forward. As soon as her wrapped knuckles touched something hard she knew she had gone far enough. The hand was soon removed, but not before he could make comment, "What an interesting improvisation"

She looked towards the sound of his voice blankly so he elaborated.

"It means that faced with a problem you came up with a genius solution"

"How so?"

"Because you had no wish to touch me and so placed calculated distance between us, but…" He started but did not finish allowing the silence to eat up his words. She half expected him to continue and the silence gave her a chance to listen to the crackle of a fire. The thought of a warm fire gave her comfort. He was talking, she knew he must have been because she could the honeyed sounds at the back of her mind. However, she was concentrating on the crackle of the wood burning in the flames. It may have been gloomier in this room, but it was by far the warmest she had come across on the continent. Due to her lack of attention it was a surprise when she felt her wrapped hand grasped tightly in his. For a brief moment she hissed with the instant pain and then with the expected pain, but it never came. Gripped in his hand the searing sting was vanquished and his touch was soothing as he simply held her hand. In that moment she wished she had paid attention to his words to better understand what had just happened. "How?" Her look of surprise travelled up his silhouetted lines.

"What?"

"You-"

He cut her off with little effort as if he would tire too easily from her apparently mundane questions, "If you are closer to the fire will you then converse with me in my little games of words?"

His voice slightly startled her out of her confusion, but she did not blush or scurry as her counterparts did. This woman merely nodded sagely enclosed in her own realm of outward calm and permitted his other hand on the small of her back to guide her. It was then that she realised that she had not mentioned a single word about the comforting effect of the fire. She had said nothing at all. The woman was no different to any of the others and may not have been on the extreme side of superstitious, but she regarded things with respect. No matter how ridiculous the idea she was forced to conclude that this new master of hers may be stranger yet and that he must be able to read minds. She had to remind herself that she was in a foreign land… No sooner was she settling out of her absurd conclusions that he spoke as if in due answer, "Many stranger things have occurred".

She decided that it was safer not to glance in his direction at present. Once seated, she lost herself in the warmth of the flames. She could feel the light waves of heat emanating out towards her and she basked in it.

On the other hand, he sat watching her looking blindly into the flames. _Was it wise to play with her in such a way?_ _To_ _read her mind and make double edge replies._ He was thinking to himself. It was clear she was smart and her mind agile in second guessing him all the way. She knew perfectly well that something was a miss when it came to him, but she was too afraid to appear absurd in coming to any conclusion outside of the ordinary. He imagined that when she did come to the correct conclusion that she would take it in her stride. To him she appeared so very accepting of anything. It would be interesting to see what time would do to her character. For now he turned his attention back to her. He had deliberately seated her there so he could view her profile and was not disappointed. So often with precious stones there were flaws or missed cuts, but here sat a prime example with little blemish. There were no windows in this room, which explained the gloom, and the light from the fire was satisfactory at best, but he was still pleased with what he saw. She sat with a straight back and with her hair pinned up. Whilst he knew that the rest of his household held his new guest in a suspicious light, he also knew they worried for the poor _chit_ being alone with him and so they styled her in an opposite fashion to the usual haunt of women. Tied soo neatly away with the pins topped with amber studs. However, it only served to accent her graceful neck which lay bare to him.

The sight, he could not help but to enjoy. He still avidly remembered sinking his long fangs into that lily-white neck with her hair brushing against his face and her little cry of protesting outrage. That sound which only served to fuel the animal within him before she had gone limp in his arms. He wondered if she remembered anything. What she would have thought of his actions? Enjoyed it as all of them did? Then again, he had been rough with her and he wouldn't dare gaze at her in broad daylight for fear of seeing the dark bruises around her neck.

Her shoulders gave way to her arms with pale skin than gleamed softly; even the henna heightened the contrast. His keen eyesight traced the intricate designs down from her neck to her shoulder blades and then to her fingertips. They worked as a path of discovery and he would liked to have followed that mystic path as it twisted its way down into the burnt amber of her dress. He watched her apparently innocently enjoy the simple warmth as she lifted her head slightly and breathed deep, but his eyes were caught as the action caused the pale rise of her breasts to strain against the linen of her dress. In that moment she turned and asked, "Why are you soo silent?" As her blind green eyes descended on him and bound him; he decided she was an excellent addition to his library as a collector of beautiful things. He could have told her that he considered her a fine decoration for his home. That he would have her stand in fine clothes before him and just, _just_ stand. He could have tried to explain her pull across his senses and that she was something he considered, for now, an item to be preserved. Something to soothe him with conversation and to take the role that a woman played outside of a bedroom. He could have eased her mind and told her she would not simply be forced into the role of his many mistresses, but how could he explain that he was the collector and she the art piece? Would not, does that not, sound strange to your ears? Besides, the man was hardly an ideal when it came to his philosophies.

"Why so silent?" Her words drifted across to him. He noted the deep tones with slightly rougher etchings. An old teacher he had once had as a boy used the same accent and he made the connection that they may have originated from the same place. "If you could hear my thoughts you would know I am far from silent", he replied.

She said nothing in return and merely turned to face the warmth of the fire.

"Do you find it odd?" He voice was probing as she continued to sit there with her straight back on the edge of the seat whilst he lounged with cat-like grace. "Do you find it odd to be seated there in reasonable luxury when you were born a slave?" As with all things in connection with humans, he failed to include the reactions of others into his sharp and blunt words. However, she did not so much as flicker an eyelid at his words, but calmly replied, "I was not born a slave". She didn't elaborate on the tale. Nor did she encourage his investigation of herself. It was more than enough to feel his curiosity ebbing from him as he sat near her.

"Did you own beautiful dresses once upon a time? Did the men flock to gander at your grace? Were the women very jealous?" His tones were teasing and she found that if she had come from such a life, she would have slapped him. Failed eyesight or not. She rewarded his spiteful attitude with its careless tones to no answer. "Viridis?" He called the name he had bestowed upon her without her consent. His acoustomed cruelty was second nature.

"My eyes may be _vert_", she said using the French instead of the Latinate in her sentence which amused him to no end. "Green they may be, but _that_ is not my name".

"French?"

"If you are still guessing my name then you are wrong-"

"Don't begin with shooting your porcupine quills at me", he said with the tones reserved for resistive horses. She heard movement and knew that he came to kneel beside her. He was far too close to her and she could feel her nerves flitting wildly across her whole body. At his close proximity a fine dashing of goose bumps broke out across her arms. She became convinced he recognised her aggitation.

"I cannot tell if you are frightened of me, angry with me or that you enjoy my company".

She made no reply to his comment, but his sharp eyes noticed the fine hairs raised along her arm closest to him. His one arm rested close to her on the back of the chair she sat on as he said, "I apologise for your life being taken from you and I am not used to _prolonged _female company so let that be an explanation or excuse for myself if you are offended".

"Save your apology because I did not come from a life as such". Any closer and his fingertips would be brushing against her exposed nape.

"But you said-"

She turned directly to where he knelt soo close beside her and did not allow the overwhelming feelings to overcome her as she saw his face for the first time. He was soo close the blurred image became a man, but instead of reacting to the revelation she said instead, "I told you I was never born a slave, but that does not mean I was privileged and _gandered _at before, my dear master-"

"So what is your name", he equally cut her off, unperturbed by her negative tones as soon as he saw his face reflect in her eyes. He knew that, this close to her, she could make out his features in detail. "If you do not want to tell me then maybe I can bargain with you", he said with amusement as she desperately tried to fight staring into his blue eyes. They were as blue as hers were green. He found himself thinking, _Can she see it too? Our similarities? Why I can't just leave her to her own devices? Why I couldn't leave her to die alone?_ "Bargain with me", he commanded her.

"Why?"

"Agree first and then we'll hammer out the finer details", he replied.

"Yes", she said it automatically just to agree with him. It goad him slightly that she had been beaten down by someone to be soo easily toyed with, but he had his way. "I happen to know that item you are wearing is not very comfortable", he began.

"How so?"

He smiled inwardly as he heard her heart beat that little bit faster. He came closer to kneel right before her with his back to the flames from the fire and said, "At a guess there was an oak root that got in the way of your path and", he paused as his palm went to lie at the curve of her hip and he felt her tense, "And you fell on your side with _absolute_ grace I'm sure". He saw she sat ever so still and the flat palm traced its way up her left side to lie part-way along her ribs. He could feel the outline of bones beneath his fingertips. The only hint of pain from the gentle soothing pressure he applied was seen in the slight swirling of colour in her eyes. "I can make it better", he whispered close enough to her face to see the darker flecks of colour in the iris. His hand stayed in contact beneath the soft weight of her breast much longer than was necessary and he felt the warmth from her parted lips linger across his cool skin. With effort he withdrew, breaking the moment, to the side of her chair once more. After a moment he said with a forced air of nonchalance, "Better?"

"Since I've been told already not to ask as to _how_, you shall not know as to _better_?" Was it his hearing or did her voice sound more _raw_ in a sense?

"Then on a presumption I shall have to ask your name?"

"My name shall reflect my past and you may not hold me in such high regard later", he was pleased to note that she was no different to any other female in how she unconsciously leaned in closer to him.

"Would it matter how I _held_ you?" He took her words and manipulated them, but she still replied in the same vein of original thought, "It matters so long as I don't lose my head". There was a definite quirk to her mouth as she said the words and it dawned on him that the simple female sensed more than he thought. She knew there was something a miss when it came to her new master and that was more than could be said for the humans he entertained as a social elite regularly.

"I would put you in a glass cabinet if I could-"

"Let me suffocate and die in the warmth of the sun?"

"Keep you for my sight alone and where the rest of the world cannot lay one finger on you", as he said the words he traced the path down her arm and lingered at the light bruising or scratches. "For one thing you won't be running blindly through the forest anymore", he said as more of a note to himself.

"You are a strange m-", she halted as she almost said _man, _ran her tongue nervously over her lips and completed the sentence, "Strange master I was going to say".

"The last decorated you-"

"When I was meant to be making him money. To be seen by a rich, pompous…" She realised her language, froze and then finished demurely with her eyes cast down, "When I was to be seen by people". At the movement her thick eyelashes obliterated the green of her eyes and came to rest gently on the soft curve of her cheek. He could hear her thoughts cusrisng herself for lapsing into old habits.

"What is your name?" He asked the question without touching her, but watching her profile that was slightly turned from him.

"My name is _Sarka_", she said simply without moving.

"Sarka", he repeated and then it translated back to him. He spoke it out loud and saw she flinched inwardly, "_Theif_". When she still did not look at him, he asked, "Why Sarka?"

She turned her green eyes upon him and said, "Do I honestly have to enlighten you?"

"Why did you flinch?"

"I did not", she immediately replied and added, "For you to sense outwardly at least". There was a touch of cheek to her tone, but he said nothing of it.

"Liar", he said. "Tell me".

"Cold", she lied again and he knew it.

Instead he embarked on voicing his thoughts he had gleamed from her own, "You don't care if I know that you were a thief because you were probably a very good one". He wanted to see if there was any reaction, but there was none to be seen. "So the only reason I can see is shame. Cold shame, but not because you stole…"

"Why then?" Sarka went back closer.

"Shame because you were caught-"

"I was not caught!" She stood with an even straighter back facing the fire with her hands gesturing away from her and he was left to stare up at her, "I was never caught", she bit full of a deadly sin. "I was merely entrapped", she said a moment later in soft tones.

"Sit Sarka, it was a long time ago and now you are here for better or worse", he said not liking her tone of remembrance or the distant look that he knew would be in her eyes. He rose as she was just seated still looking into the flames of the fire. He would have touched her shoulder or comforted her if he had known _how_, but despite all his knowledge and years he knew nothing of the little things that bound all humans together. A touch, caress, look or kiss could mean the world to another human caught in another time and place, but alas he had failed to be human many moons ago. It was for the first time he realised this personal failing and did not like in the least. To lash out was the first instinct, but surprisingly, for the first time, he would not lash out at the nearest cause. No. He _would not_ touch her and that was to be the definitive article for their time together. The demon wanted release from the anger and so his impulsive nature walked him straight out of the room to the domain of another woman.


End file.
